


Unfortunately, everyone misunderstands Mr. Lee

by Huidindin



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - The Proposal Fusion, Fake Marriage, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Meet the Family, PA!cheol, Pining, Slow Burn, and the ensuing angst that might come about, boss!jihoon, is it mutual? who knows, probably, tags updated as chapters update
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:41:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28340322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Huidindin/pseuds/Huidindin
Summary: “You bastard! You can’t fire me!”Seungcheol kind of just stands there, dumbstruck, looking back and forth between his boss and the assistant producer down the hall screaming his head off. A lot of events have transpired in his three years of working with Jihoon but nothing quite like this.As Jihoon’s personal assistant, Seungcheol has a moral obligation to film this slander and clicks open his phone’s camera to record the fiasco, holding the smartphone against his thigh inconspicuously, the three high-definition lenses capturing the AP's every movement and twitch.[or that one fic where jicheol are placed into the storyline of The proposal (2009)]
Relationships: Choi Seungcheol | S.Coups/Lee Jihoon | Woozi
Comments: 27
Kudos: 53





	1. Spilled coffee

**Author's Note:**

> hello again~  
> ive always been deprived of my 'the proposal!svt fusion', more specifically jicheol proposal au (because its my favourite romcom ever and jicheol will forever hold the no. 1 spot in my heart) so i put it upon myself to deliver.
> 
> the fic draws heavily from the film, especially in the first few chapters, so credit is due.
> 
> hope you enjoy, and have an amazing day/night!
> 
> un-betaed, un-edited (i wrote this christmas day and finished boxing day) and some other un's i dont know about probably  
> <3

“Shit, shit, shit. Shit, I’m gonna be so late. I’m gonna be so fucking late,” Seungcheol hisses under his breath, pushing at the door of the nearest Starbucks with enough force to move the sticky hinges.

They seriously need to fix that.

The queue counts about five people. Four now. But that’s still another four minutes of precious time he could be using to get his ass to _Woozy Factory._ Seungcheol slips in line, most definitely cutting off a pink-haired teenage girl, whose too busy reading the menu to pay attention to the moving line, mind un-caffeinated and unprepared for the gross motor skills of stepping forward while simultaneously reading, with a space opening up in front of her. Seungcheol makes an effort to absolutely not get too anxious over the disapproving _tsk_ that sounds from behind him a moment later and the muttered, “what a knobhead,” squeezing his eyes shut and praying she won’t throw a fit, confront him, or worse yet, start crying. It’s fine. It’s totally fine.

There are only two more patrons in front of him. It’ll be fine.

Seungcheol looks up at the corner of the digital menu behind the counter and swears as he reads 7:43, the numbers burning themselves into his retinas with how hard he’s looking and blinking back unhappily in the green light in some nagging gesture — _hah, you’re screwed!_

“Oh, Seungcheol-sshi!” Seungcheol all but lurches forward, stepping out of the queue to the side where the sweet barista, two years his junior, maybe (she mentioned it once but Seungcheol’s _forgotten_ ), stands waiting with her hands outstretched towards him, one hand holding his regular, two iced americanos, and the other waiting for the exact change she knows Seungcheol has, already prepared in his hands. The coins drop disgustingly warm into her plastic-disposable gloved hands, and she blushes as Seungcheol gushes his relief, “Remember, call me oppa, Suhyun-ah. You’re a lifesaver!”

Seungcheol hauls ass out of the shop, practically running from the silent jealousy of the other waiting patrons burning at his heels, some of which witness this on the daily, and sprints the last minute to _Woozy Factory._

_~_

A distracted Mingyu appears out of nowhere, or probably from the depths of hell, at the perfect moment to collide with his fast-paced stride— Seungcheol’s distracted too, checking his wristwatch every other second like a mad man.

The brown liquid instantly stains his shirt and Seungcheol doesn’t even have a moment to worry about how he’ll get the stain to wash out of his only perfectly white dress shirt (his other one went pink after he accidentally mixed his whites and colours) before he’s clutching at Mingyu’s shirt collar. Unstained, unscathed and in perfect condition.

“Shirt. Now, Gyu.” In record time Mingyu strips himself of his baby blue dress shirt in the open office, and exchanges it for Seungcheol’s soiled one, with two catcalls in the distance. It’s a smidge too long on the arms and —damn, he needs to bench more— hangs loose around his shoulders, but it works, hidden under his cheap suitcoat.

Thank whoever is looking down at him in that moment, the other americano is saved, a little dent in the side of the green mermaid lady the only evidence of its near accident along with its twin and Seungcheol takes a deep breath to calm the furious pulsing of his heart. He checks his watch again.

7:45.

When he stands sentry next to the empty mahogany desk in Jihoon’s studio the minute hand reaches the next, black-marked graduation.

7:46.

He straightens himself, takes another deep breath and, brightly, he greets Jihoon who comes in a minute late, as per usual with the hush that has fallen over the recently chaotic outer office area, head bowed down over the small monitor that Seungcheol knows contains the days tasks for his boss, conveniently a click away and always available on his person: “Good morning, Mr. Lee!”

Seungcheol’s greeting coincides with the small scissors gesture Jihoon throws at him, like he’s shooting a gun, and Seungcheol knows Jihoon can’t hear him with the sleek wireless earpieces blasting the latest demo track for the new girl-group Jihoon has been assigned. 

Jihoon rarely sits at his mahogany desk, no one really sits there, it’s more of a decorative piece than anything and it’s placed strategically near the cable line— no one uses telephones with the ubiquitous smartphone, but it’s Seungcheol’s job to forward any internal line calls. It’s practically his desk.

Jihoon can probably smell the spilled americano that has seeped through his dress shirt onto his undershirt, and Seungcheol knows how his boss likes the studio (or at least his side of the room) to smell like cola and not the rich brew of coffee. He’s still got the limited edition, everlasting cola scented perfume Seungcheol purchased two years ago next to his three sleek monitors, sprayed once every workday at exactly 5 P.M., just behind the apex deluxe reclining office chair that Jihoon sits in for twelve hours; less than a quarter left, but still, that’ll probably last them the next six months.

Jihoon passes by his studio equipment that’s made its home in a haphazard pile at the centre of the studio, an organized chaos that Seungcheol’s learnt to navigate after a year and half of working for the small man— soon coming up to their fourth year together, he could probably navigate the room and the equipment with his eyes closed— and Jihoon plops himself unceremoniously on his office chair which rebounds slightly at the sudden weight, swinging around to gesture at the americano in Seungcheol’s hands.

Like clockwork, they exchange drink and tablet, Seungcheol already memorizing the list of To-do’s, cross-referencing against his own list on his phone, and Jihoon taking a quick swig of the americano, snapping a mini section of the lid open to form a small mouthpiece. It comes in a closed cup, little centred cross punctured through with a straw, but Jihoon never uses it and Seungcheol never has the time to ask Suhyun for a damn sippy cup, God.

Seungcheol’s just waiting for the day Jihoon will cut his salary by five percent for failing to get his bloody cup order at Starbucks right— he’s had a year (from yesterday) to get it down, but Seungcheol needs to _sleep_. Jihoon has slowly been weaned off his coke cola addiction after his GP deemed him borderline insulin resistant and made the switch to no sugar, dark as the void, iced americano for his caffeine hit.

“God, I hate this stuff.” When Seungcheol peeks over the screen he sees his boss making an extremely adorable face, all scrunched up and mouth set in a small pout, grimacing at the bitter taste, and Seungcheol shakes his head with a discreet smile.

“Mr. Lee, it’s been 366 days since we started replacing the—“

“Please, Seungcheol-sshi, don’t mention the c-word in this studio.” Seungcheol knows not to. He wasn’t going to. But he nods his assent anyways, going back to memorizing the tasks for the day. “So... uh, who’s Suhyunnie and why do they want to give me their number?”

Oh shit.

“I have no clue,” he lies and feels the warmth of shame and anxiety, that strange light-headed tightness that seizes his body, like he just lied to his _halmeoni_ after hiding a packet of gummy worms under his shirt. He’s totally going to find out about the backup coffee routine — Mingyu better be hiding in some dank closet, or at least buying him another shirt. That’s the third time he’s done this, this month.

Jihoon turns the cup and quietly, absentmindedly, he reads, ‘Cheol-oppa’ and Seungcheol feels his body enkindle, the sparks blown oxygen and catching, startled at the nickname, when all he ever hears is the semi-distant, ‘Seungcheol-sshi’ escape Jihoon’s lips. It’s kind of fitting in a way, Jihoon is over twelve months his junior, he could totally be his boss’s opp—

Okay, stop that train of thought, Cheol.

At that moment the studio line rings shrill and sharp enough to cut the growing tension rooting Seungcheol in place. Quickly, he places Jihoon’s tablet on his desk and swerves around all the equipment like it could act as a makeshift wall against the strange atmosphere developing on Jihoon’s side of the room, picking up the telephone on its fourth ring.

“Hello, this is Mr. Lee’s studio.” From across the room, Seungcheol can see his boss swirl on his chair to face his monitors, the shining black screens reflecting Seungcheol’s small, hunched figure over the mahogany desk, the reflection’s definition blurring Seungcheol’s wide-eyed embarrassment, before he boots up the system and the screens flash white, coming alive. Samuel from two studios down the hall is talking off his ear through the line but Seungcheol is so attuned to his boss’s gentle voice that he can hear the, “this is definitely his coffee,” clear as day, as if Jihoon was speaking right into his ear with that lilting, airy voice.

_‘...need to speak to him. I really tried for Jihoon. Can he fit me into his sche—’_

Seungcheol moves the handset away from his ear and presses the transmitter into his shoulder. “Mr. Lee, it’s Mr. Seo from NBB down the hall. He’d like to see you?”

“Yeah. Right. Samuel had to consolidate the demo bridge with the exec. I’ve given him a week...”

“So, you’ll see him?”

“Yes. Right now, actually.”

Jihoon takes his time, sorting out the automatic tabs that open when the monitors get booted, as Seungcheol smoothly informs Samuel on the other end of the line, hopping out of the studio and furiously typing out a: _‘Lee on the loose. Look ur best.’_ Hitting send and hearing the satisfying shuffle of his co-workers getting their shit together and actually doing what they’re paid to do, or at least looking the part.

Although Samuel was the one who insisted on seeing Jihoon, he did not sound at all enthusiastic about the impending interaction, sighing out a feeble, ‘okay’, before he hung up.

“So, did you get around to listening to my sample I sent last week?”

Seungcheol falls into step behind Jihoon who barely falters when he replies, “I’ve been busy.” Yeah, Seungcheol knows that, but how hard is it to listen to a sixty second sample, once. That’s all he’s asking from his boss.

“Can I say something?”

“We’re busy.”

“Mr. Lee, we are walking,” Seungcheol snaps, but it’s concealed by the light tone he’s adopting and the saccharine smile that’s pasted itself onto his face. The exact one Seungcheol knows that Jihoon knows is as fake as the blonde extensions Youngho started wearing last November. “Look, I know you’ve got at least 35 other samples to listen to everyday—“ Jihoon finally looks at him then, incredulous — “but I’ve been sending you my samples for two years now. Only once have you ever told me you actually listened to them. And at best it was the first five seconds.” Jihoon considers this, parting his lips to accept or deny the accusation, but Mingyu — _bloody, fucking, Kim Mingyu_ — is not in fact hiding in a dank closet and backs out of an office, nearly bowling over Seungcheol’s tiny boss. Jihoon gets a full face of Seungcheol’s americano stained shirt on Mingyu, stumbling back into Seungcheol’s arms before stilling. Lee Jihoon closes his eyes, quietly beginning his countdown from ten and Mingyu squeaks out an apology and power walks to a faraway cubicle, which Seungcheol’s pretty sure is Joohyun-noona’s from the R&B sector.

Instead he says, “The fact that you have the same order as me is kind of sad, Seungcheol-sshi.”

“Most people like americanos.” Seungcheol gestures towards Seungkwan’s cubicle as they pass it, just to prove his point. There are two empty Starbucks cups next to his keyboard, leaving wet circles on the paperwork below, and Seungkwan is working on his third americano, chewing on the green straw, black headphones keeping his fluffy brown hair out of his eyes as he works.

“Yes. But _you_ don’t like americanos. The first time you got us coffee, I’m pretty sure you got yourself a caramel iced latte. And the second time, I had to drink a caramel iced latte because you said they were out of everything else.”

Huh. He did get a caramel iced latte with almond milk for himself the first few times he did his coffee run, but he quickly learnt that a certain Kim never changes after the first incident.

Damn. Seungcheol misses his almond milk, caramel iced lattes.

Jihoon has diverted the topic completely now and Seungcheol is all out of openings to promote his samples.

He’ll get him next time.

Seungcheol pulls the opaque glass door to _New Block Babyz studio,_ holding the door for Jihoon to enter before following behind. Samuel Seo stands from his desk to greet them, slightly bowing his head.

“Jihoon, I’ve had so many assignments that I didn’t have time for our demo, I—“

“Cut the crap, Seo. You didn’t even call Executive Han. I had to. This morning. He was about to cut us off the production crew for _GSC,_ if I hadn’t pulled through.” Seungcheol watches as Jihoon’s ears glow red and the hands he’s hidden behind his back, to feign an imposing stance, flex and tremble slightly over their hold on his items. Seungcheol’s face is impassive and carefully blank— it isn’t a hard feat to pull off, he’s grown used to the blunt perfectionist side of his boss.

Samuel stutters to save himself, apologizing, but Jihoon is relentless when he’s pissed and things don’t go to plan, and this, Seungcheol thinks a bit pitifully, most definitely did not go to plan— maybe Samuel needs a PA too. Actually, on second thought he doesn’t need another PA. He’ll get them fired soon enough, before they can touch the actual chaos of sheets and USB’s on Samuel’s desk or say ‘ _woozy_ ’, according to his promiscuous track record.

“I gave you a chance last time, Seo. I did. But I think it’s time you find another position. Maybe one you’ll take seriously,” says Jihoon. Samuel’s grovelling act finally lets up, showing his true colours as he scowls and clutches at the nearest ballpoint pen like he can brandish it as a weapon. Like he could kill Jihoon on the spot. Right then and there with a blue ballpoint. Though, Seungcheol wouldn’t let him touch a hair on his head.

Jihoon gives the pen a glance and moves towards Seungcheol who immediately reacts to the step, pushing the glass to exit. “I’ll give you one month to find another job and then you can tell everyone you resigned. By that deadline I want you out of the building. You can do that, can’t you, Seo?” Jihoon finishes tiredly. He doesn’t look back for an answer as he exits the room after Seungcheol.

Seungcheol’s attention gravitates towards Jihoon’s newly emptied hands; gently offering to take his boss’s load; as he pulls the grey sweater sleeves down and over his lithe fingers, fidgeting furiously, his gaze looking straight, onwards.

“What does my six o’clock look like?” Seungcheol reports Samuel’s cagey pacing, the hurled ballpoint that meets its soundless demise against a wall.

“He’s got the crazy eyes, Mr. Lee.”

“Come on, dude. I let you off easy. Don’t do it.”

A moment later, the tempered glass door down the hall swings open and peals unpleasantly against the adjacent windows, startling the common office area, as the workers slowly pop their heads up and over their cubicles to take a look at the commotion, like meerkats having taken a whiff of a predator. Seungcheol stops his stride when Jihoon turns around to give Samuel an indifferent stare.

“You, _fucking_ , bastard!” Samuel Seo is digging his occupational grave, hurling expletives towards Jihoon who takes it silently, probably compartmentalizing for another day, or when he needs some particularly angry inspiration for one of his songs. The crowd around them gasps in shock and very possibly excitement at the drama going down. “You can’t fire me!” Seungcheol kind of just stands there, dumbstruck, looking back and forth between his boss and the assistant producer down the hall screaming his head off. A lot of events have transpired in his three years of working with Jihoon but nothing quite like this, apparent for everyone to see. Jihoon is looking around at the workers, who stare back in shock and then remembering themselves, look away intimidated. Jihoon stares back, blank and unimpressed; the perfect picture of the cold producing prince who could sack the whole floor if he so chooses.

As Jihoon’s personal assistant, Seungcheol has a moral obligation to film this _slander_ and clicks open his phone’s camera to record Samuel, holding the smartphone against his thigh inconspicuously, the three high-definition lenses capturing Samuel’s every movement and twitch.

“Okay, Samuel. That’s enough.” Jihoon holds his palm up like he’s warding off evil, but Samuel has erupted and won’t stop anytime soon.

“— you’ve never liked me, Jihoon. But at least I have talent and support in the industry. Just because you have no semblance of a life outside of ‘ _Woozy_ ’, you think you can treat us like your own personal slaves!” Seungcheol bristles at this. He’s probably the only person who can make that claim, being Jihoon’s literal personal assistant. Samuel does shit-all for his boss. “The whole crew used to talk shit behind your back, still do, because NO ONE LIKES YOU!” Samuel looks unstable as he throws his head back and laughs, releasing years worth of pent-up rage towards Jihoon. “You know what? I feel sorry for you. Because you’ll have nothing and no one on your deathbed. No. One.”

“Please call security, Seungcheol-sshi.” Jihoon doesn’t even make a move to defend himself, looking upon Samuel as if he is a bug to be crushed under his heel. Jihoon is above all this... unprofessionalism. Seungcheol wants to be furious on Jihoon’s behalf. He _is_ furious on Jihoon’s behalf. But they have a reputation to uphold and Jihoon would just as quickly jeopardize Seungcheol’s career prospects if he so much as steps a toe out of line, no matter Seungcheol’s valiant intentions. So, he does. He calls security and a minute more of mindless yelling is cut off by three surly guards who drag Samuel off the premise. He’s instantly fired for broaching company etiquette. One month chance be damned.

Seungcheol feels like shit. Halfway through the one-sided shouting match his professional mask cracked and his face has been stuck in ‘wide-eyed guileless mode’ for ten minutes. When Seungcheol seals their studio door shut, the closed room acts like a vacuum for silence, sucking in the quiet and expelling the heated chatter from the open office outside.

Seungcheol takes a deep, full-bodied inhale before he tries to comment on the debacle, maybe lighten the mood, all that jazz.

He exhales. “So, that wa—“

“Seungcheol-hyung, do you think you could pop outside to get me another americano?”

Sure. Yeah. _Seungcheol-hyung_ can totally do that.


	2. To be, other wise, engaged

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello everyone, im back with the next scene, i hope you have fun and enjoy-- i certainly am enjoying the writing process of the story haha!  
> thank you to everyone who has taken the time to interact with the story, it means alot to me. every one of those bookmarks, subscriptions, kudos and comments are seen and absolutely appreciated <3
> 
> prepare for aussie jihoon because as fiction dictates i can do whatever i want, lol jk it was for plot purposes

When Seungcheol leaves, locking the door behind him, per Jihoon’s request, Jihoon breaks down just a little.

Jihoon can’t stop the heat and pressure building behind his eyes, it’s a miracle that he didn’t burst out in tears when Seo cursed him out in front of his co-workers. What a dick move, and Seo had it coming, Jihoon doesn’t even feel an inch of regret anymore. Jihoon’s been dealing with his shit for three years and not once had a peep of complaint— yeah, maybe he had some passive aggressive moments with Seo and, maybe, he frequently took it upon himself to get shit done and was kind of a control freak, but what do you expect when you work with perverted trash that can’t pull their own weight. It’s ridiculous. Jihoon can’t even believe he dealt with that for this long. Someone give him a medal—

He’s sniffling now, quiet sobs wracking his body and not letting him _breathe._ Pathetic and hiccoughing his oxygen out and in, in and out. God, Seo is such a dick. Such a bloody sicko—

_‘hey boss, got u the americano ^_^ anything else while im down?’_

He’s so lucky to have Seungcheol in his life. The older man is the longest running PA Jihoon’s ever had (he’s the _only_ PA he’s ever had), and sometimes he doesn’t get it. How does Seungcheol even deal with Jihoon’s emotional constipation (though, he is so, at least he’s aware of it) or the fact that he’s scared shitless that maybe, just maybe, Seungcheol will leave him like everyone else to pursue bigger dreams. Dreams he would have no trouble accomplishing given his talent and work ethic and resilience and—

Okay. Yes, Jihoon actually does listen to every single sample, all 31 of them, that Seungcheol sends through to his email. It’s probably the highlight of his month. They’re bloody amazing. Better than half the people he’s worked with and Seungcheol’s the one stuck with a PA job— grabbing Jihoon americanos and not cokes, and organizing everything Jihoon has no time for, and frankly would struggle to work through efficiently if he were ever tasked to do so himself. It’s insane.

He fishes out some napkins, still left in his top drawer from yesterday’s takeaway dinner, eaten absentmindedly in front of the monitors, still working, and just shovelling the particles down his throat so his cells wouldn’t die out on him. He’s sorry. But he’s also a workaholic, so there’s a yin and yang balancing game Jihoon competes in on the daily.

He’s also not disgusting and uses the napkins to wipe the watery snot running from his nose— he knows Seungcheol would literally use the naked palm of his hand for this kind of thing, or if he was feeling a bit more civilized, his shirt sleeve.

After wiping away the evidence of his emotions— the exact ones everyone thinks are non-existent —he swipes at Seungcheol’s text message and replies with a, _‘Forgot to have breakfast. Maybe a burrito?’_ Knowing full well that the closest food place that sells burritos is the Paco Loco in the next district over. It’ll probably take Seungcheol twenty-five minutes; he has to come back to the building and ask admin for the company car keys, and then he has to make the six-minute drive to the Paco Loco — it might take a little longer considering the morning peak hour — order, which will be another ten minutes, come back. Yes, twenty-five minutes.

Jihoon gets a text back a few seconds later.

‘ _yeh, all g. give me 20. already have the car, had a feeling i needed it >.<_‘

Sometimes Jihoon underestimates him. Though, twenty minutes is enough time for his nose to return back to its usual complexion and the red puffiness of his eyes to go down.

~

The bridge still doesn’t sound exactly right. There’s definitely a beat out of place— or no, scratch that, maybe the whole beat sample is wrong—

“—you open the door?” Then another volley of light knocks, “Mr. Lee?”

Jihoon whips off his headset and scrambles to the door, flicking the lock and swinging the glass door open just as Seungcheol brings a fist up to knock once again. “Oh, hey, Mr. Lee. Got you the burrito and also some extra rice on the side,” says Seungcheol, holding up a bulging plastic bag. Somewhere in the recesses of Jihoon’s mind the knowledge that Seungcheol owns a key to the studio is blinking like a sputtering neon sign, but he chooses to ignore it, walk past it just to circle back to at another time or day. Seungcheol’s probably gotten himself something to eat as well, surely, a burrito and rice bowl would not take up that much space. “Let’s eat.”

~

“While I was waiting for our order, Junhui rang up and said he couldn’t get through to the studio line, so he called through to my personal instead, apparently you have me down as your emergency contact —but, anyways, that’s beside the point. He just talked to your immigration attorney and wants to discuss something with you urgently.”

Jihoon chokes on the grain of rice that has chosen this exact moment to lodge itself passed his epiglottis and attempt to sneak into his _lungs_. He wheezes once, coughs violently just as Seungcheol stands behind him ready to perform the Heimlich manoeuvre but before Seungcheol can grasp his dying body, he crushes the bottle of water down his throat and coughs once more, feeling the grain pop out with the momentum and go about its merry way down the right pipe. He can _breathe_. Thank God for automatic reflexes.

“Mr. Lee! Are you alright!” He can tell Seungcheol is suppressing his panic, voice thick with worry and covered by a membrane of forced optimism— Jihoon doesn’t respond well to fraught behaviour, much rather die quietly than be subject to the coddling of others, but he lets Seungcheol give the place between his shoulder blades a soft pet before he straightens his posture with an, “I’m fine, thank you.”

He makes a move to stand up and heads to the bathroom connected to the studio for a moment to wash his face. Tears are prickling at the corners of his eyes and there is water all down his favourite grey sweater. The food did not come with any napkins so Jihoon has to make do with the thin, two-ply rolls of toilet paper that barely hold up against Jihoon’s insistent scrubbing, trying to dry out most of the wet patches on his sweater and mostly failing. He resorts to stripping off the sweater (he has a shirt underneath, he isn’t a heathen) and runs it under the automatic hand dryer, blasting warm air onto the material. Jihoon hopes it works. He can’t afford to rock up to meetings looking less than impeccable— he already makes it hard for himself when he persistently rocks up to work in casual shirts, sweaters and joggers, but they’re the nice expensive ones, simple and sleek in their design and, most importantly, comfortable on the body.

It takes five minutes to dry the sweater and when Jihoon returns to his meal, Seungcheol is whispering in satoori, furiously fast, and looks over at Jihoon like he walked in on the conversation at the most inopportune moment. Jihoon catches something about his halmeoni and a 90th birthday and doesn’t have to do the math, as Seungcheol says he’ll try. Try what exactly, Jihoon doesn’t know. When he hangs up Jihoon asks who it was.

“It was just mum.” Jihoon is silent, prompting Seungcheol for an explanation. “She wants me to come back to Jeju-do for the weekend, for halmeoni’s birthday,” says Seungcheol, inquiry embedded in the statement. It’s really not the best timing. Jihoon still has to pick up the loose ends Samuel left him, and it also happens to be GSC’s trial run for the guide next week so he has to work overtime over the weekend if he can.

“Seungcheol-sshi, I need you to cover for the meetings I’ll be missing out on while I sort out GSC’s title track with the crew and that may occur during the weekend. I need you to contact them today to let them know about Samuel and the resulting collaboration we need to undertake to get the guide done by the deadline.” Seungcheol deflates with every word— Jihoon might as well scream, _‘NO, YOU CAN’T,_ ’ but diligently types out his tasks onto the notes app of his phone. Jihoon feels guilty about never letting his PA catch a break, but he would much rather deal with Seungcheol’s sulking than Executive Han’s disappointment.

“Oh, and about the meeting with Jun, I can see him right now, while you get that done.” The food lays forgotten on the mahogany desk, as Jihoon mentally prepares himself to brave the outside of his studio once more.

~

“Ah, Jihoon, it’s great to see you again!” Junhui greets him cheerfully. It’s a bright Thursday morning, so he guesses there is something to be cheerful about. Next to Junhui, Yuta from management, stands leaning heavily against the cabinets and gives him a wave and a close-lipped smile.Jihoon returns their smiles with a shy one of his own, bowing slightly as he does so — he doesn’t mind Junhui and Yuta much, they’re acquaintances, maybe he could call Junhui a friend after all he’s done for him, but he likes them enough. 

Yuta doesn’t waste any time— Jihoon likes that about him and goes straight to the matter at hand.

“So, we just talked to your immigration attorney,” says Yuta and Jihoon really just wants this meeting to be over.

“Is everything okay?”

“Jihoon, your visa application was rejected.” Junhui sighs, as he reads off a document, the one Jihoon supposes writes out this whole mess in clear, concise detail.

_Rejected—_

“And you are being repatriated.”

_Repatriated_. “What does that even mean?” Jihoon asks dubiously, dumbfounded and anxious.

Yuta looks pitifully at Jihoon’s hands, wringing themselves. “They want to kick you out of the company and send you b—“

“Wait, but—“

Junhui continues to read the document, giving him the abridged version of the details, “apparently this is the result of some paperwork you didn’t fill out in time.”

_Paperwork. Oh_ —

Jihoon stands there, dumbstruck and gaping at the two gentlemen before him. They wait for him, patient and sombre, the smiles they greeted him with forgotten in the ashes of the past five minutes, reborn as grim lines.

“Please, you can’t be serious.” Jihoon tries, scoffing, “I’m literally Korean.” He slaps a hand to his heart like he can punctuate just how Korean the blood pumping out of it is. “I’m from Busan,” he finishes quietly. Yes, he moved to Busan from Australia when he was seventeen then to Seoul when he was twenty-two— he comes from generations of Koreans, but his mother just so happened to give birth to him on the continent island.

“We can submit a reapplication—“ Jihoon’s heart lifts at the news— “but you’ll have to leave Korea for at least a year” — then promptly gets crushed once again. Yuta finishes stating the facts with a helpless shrug, the physical embodiment of, ‘ _what can you do?’_ , and what _can_ Jihoon do in this situation? Jihoon’s mind whirs, writing out plan Z, because who in their wildest nightmares plans for their bloody _deportation_?

“I can manage everything from Perth. I can move the softwares onto a hard drive. Zoom is super big nowadays and everyone has done an online conference at least once—“ Jihoon’s frantic rambling is cut off by Yuta, who proceeds to crush everything he lives for.

“Jihoon, if you’re repatriated you can’t work for a Korean company.”

“You cannot be serious—“

“Jihoon, if there was any way we could fix this, we’d be doing it.” Junhui attempts to conciliate, gentle like he’s afraid to scare Jihoon out of the room. It strikes Jihoon down with anxiety and panic, even more so.

“There is no way— _Please_. I’m beggi—“ 

After three quick knocks, Seungcheol opens the door and Jihoon mid beg, whips around to glare at his PA, he really is not in the mood for any more shit. _Please_.

“Excuse me, we’re in a meeting,” says Junhui calmly, shooing out Seungcheol. His PA stands his ground, apologizes for the interruption and says he needs Jihoon for just a moment.

“What?” Jihoon says impatiently, almost-hiss evidence of his frenzied state.

“It’s Beomju. He called. He’s on the line and said he needs to speak with you right away,” Jihoon nods quickly, like he can speed up Seungcheol’s transmission with his head movements, “and I told him you were otherwise engaged—“ Jihoon’s mind blips into the void after the word, Seungcheol’s quick chatter fading into it, and Jihoon hangs tight on the word. Engaged. _Engaged._

Seungcheol’s sure words are slowly dying off as Jihoon stands stock still, just staring. Staring. Staring at his PA. Seungcheol stares back, trying to convey his confusion and the little furrow of his brow breaks Jihoon’s momentary lapse.

‘ _Come here.’_ Jihoon mouths, trying to be discreet. Seungcheol’s confusion grows steadily and now he’s looking at Jihoon like he’s grown another head. He tries again. Seungcheol seems to get it the second time around, straightening from how he was half-pitched into the room, and slowly makes his way beside Jihoon, who hasn’t stopped staring at his PA.

“Right. Uh, gentlemen. Yuta, Jun. I, uh, understand the... predicament, that we are in,” Jihoon says slowly, oh so very slowly, like he’s testing out the vowels and consonants for the first time, “and, um, there’s a— well, there’s something that you should know.” Junhui and Yuta look pressed with concern but there’s a glimmer of optimism peeking through their confused gazes, and Jihoon takes the last few steps back to meet Seungcheol halfway, almost stumbling but not quite.

“Uh...” he gestures to Seungcheol and then himself, and decides, absolutely _screw it,_ and rips the bloody band aid, “we’re getting married.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPIEST BIRTHDAY TO YOU SHUA, my first ever svt bias, and i hope every one of you have an amazing day on his behalf too!
> 
> sorry for the kind of cliff hanger, i lifted most of the dialogue from the movie like an absolute thief but i hope it was seamlessly melded into the story well enough
> 
> im sorry if i got any immigration details/music production details off, i certainly am no professional, but hey its fiction!
> 
> finally we can get past the introducing sections and delve a little more in the relationship building hehe


	3. Third time's the charm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello everyone, HAPPY FIRST WEEK OF THE NEW YEAR, i hope everyone is having a better year so far! im back with a kinda big chapter, cheol's pov brings that outta me for some reason. i hope i conveyed his like shock well, but inevitably Jihoon is a bit of a bad boss and even cheol stoops to his level too >.<  
> also this chapter is extremely dialogue heavy and again borrows heavily from the film, credit to you Pete Chiarelli  
> i wrote the last half of this just then so,, haha have fun

Jihoon’s tapping his tummy again. _Jihoon’s tapping his tummy._

“We’re getting married.” Jihoon repeats the words again, and on second hearing, they still don’t make sense.

“Who’s getting...”

“Us, you and me. _We_ are getting married.” Huh. Yeah, no. Still— _what?_

“We... are...”

“Getting married,” says Jihoon, completing his sentence with that tinkling laughter of his, it’s a bit hysterical but it’s passably genuine.

Stop him. _Why is he tapping his tummy, oh my God?_ Oh my God!

“Truth is, we were just... two people who weren’t supposed to fall in love.” Jihoon tries, sneaking a hand behind his waist, a ghost of contact, and drops it after a second. In love. Huh. Waist. _Waist_.

Seungcheol shakes his head, stunned, “no.”

“But we did.” Jihoon laughs. “All those late nights in the office and... and album premieres— you know.”

“No.” Seungcheol quietly warbles, still shaking his head, like the final bobbles of the Doremon bobble-head when he parks his car. Jihoon is nodding his head, looking at Seungcheol expectantly, “yes, something just happened.” Seungcheol’s head doesn’t know what to do, almost making revolutions in its indecision to shake and nod. _This cannot be happening._

“Yes. Something—“ Seungcheol can only echo, not entirely aware of the words that are trying to make their way out of his mouth, but suddenly he doesn’t understand _Korean_.

“We tried to fight it, but— you just can’t fight a love like ours.” Jihoon finishes loudly, reaching up to pull Seungcheol by the shoulders in an awkward side hug. They both draw into it and flinch when their temples touch. Seungcheol just smiles, or more accurately, bares his teeth in an attempt to smile. Jihoon promptly releases his hold, “So, are we good?”

Junhui claps, drawing a fraction of Seungcheol’s attention away from the blob of thoughts that have congealed as his brain over the past few seconds, minutes, hours. Oh, he really has lost it.

“Jihoon— well, that’s really wonderful!” Junhui says, after getting over his surprise. Genuinely happy for the newly engaged couple. He’s smiling, mouth fully open and teeth on display and looks so, _so_ happy. _What goes on?_

Yuta leans forward, like a Jaguar about to pounce from its branch, “isn’t that your secretary?”

Jihoon begins to say ‘executive’ for some reason just as Seungcheol dazedly breathes out, “assistant.”

“Assistant, executive, personal… secretary. Titles. Am I right?” Then Jihoon furrows his brow and titters nervously, “not the first time someone’s fallen for their secretary, hey,” Jihoon says, giving a pointed look towards the Japanese man. Yuta leans back, eyes slowly growing in their circumference and he crosses his arms tightly over his chest. “Sicheng, remember?” Yuta doesn’t respond, conveniently shut up. No one wants to be a hypocrite. Junhui is giving Yuta an impressed look, turning his guileless smile upon him. It turns a tad mischievous and now he’s smirking.

He turns back to the couple, “Jihoon, that’s great. So great. Just be sure to make it legal, okay?” Junhui taps on his own glinting ring finger and Jihoon mirrors the action.

“Right! Legal,” Jihoon says conspiratorially, and sucks a breath of air between his teeth, “got it. That means we’ve got to get ourselves to the immigration office!”

Yuta just nods and Junhui dismisses them with an emphatic, ‘congratulations!’ And Seungcheol can still only process the words, ‘ _we are_ ’.

When they walk out of the room, Jihoon acts as if nothing world-altering just happened, gleeful facade totally dropped. Immediately, he busies himself with his little tablet— even more reserved than usual— and swipes across the screen to respond to messages and emails, and even makes a call through his earpiece, that lasts all but ten seconds, ten seconds of white noise to Seungcheol, who can only stare at his boss’s little red ears. It’s the only comfort he can tether himself to in this alternate, nightmare-ish, universe.

Despite Seungcheol’s stupefaction, he can sense a shift in the air of the common office, which is uncharacteristically quiet— too quiet— see, if they were quiet doing work the noise of a keyboard, multiple keyboards, being typed on would be filling the room. But it’s nearly silent, like a ghost town with the breath of the living the only noise present.

‘Cheol and Mr. Lee are getting married!’ He catches the frantic whisper in the distance, and how the bloody hell does anything travel that fast in the office when Seungcheol can barely convey the next board meeting schedule without calling at least four people before someone gets the memo.

‘What is he thinking?’

‘Dang, for real? Him?’ Seungcheol is unsure which ‘ _him_ ’ that person was referring to but, _same_. Is this even for real?

‘Married? Didn’t even know they were dating. I’m pretty sure I would’ve noticed _that_.’ The particular voice is easy to isolate, but Seungcheol is in such a daze that he can barely make out his moving feet let alone Boo Seungkwan having an absolute time, not even trying to be discreet, at the recent news breaking out.

“I, uh, don’t understand. What’s going on, Mr. Lee?” Seungcheol cautions, uncomprehending of the situation and very close to losing to his inner most panic.

“I’m getting repatriated,” says Jihoon, lowly.

“What?”

“Deported. And marrying you is the only way I’ll keep everything I’ve worked for in the past ten years.” Jihoon says, so matter of fact that even Seungcheol, who should be most unconvinced of this ludicrous plan, is nearly sold. Nearly sold _isn’t_ sold, though.

“Do you— do you really think I’m okay with this?”

“Well, it’s either marrying me or getting caught up in all the rumours that’ll spiral from this. You’ll have to say goodbye to any chance in this industry, Seungcheol-sshi. I’m you’re only chance in making it. You said so yourself.” Though his voice is calm and sensible, there’s an edge to it and Seungcheol would recognize it as threat with a sprinkle of insanity later on. That pisses Seungcheol off— it takes a lot to piss him off. This must be a lot. Who does Jihoon think he is?

His bloody boss. And a bloody powerhouse in the industry.

Damn it. Seungcheol knew (he really didn’t, though) those samples were a bad idea — his first one was attached to an email outlining his aspirations and ambitions, he wanted to take initiative, build for a future of success in the industry and work his way from the bottom— also, working for The Lee Jihoon had already kickstarted his dreams by a good feet or two. He had been naive to think Jihoon wouldn’t use his desperate plea for recognition and validation against him. He’s inappropriately flattered that Jihoon even remembered what he wrote those years ago, but now he’s paying the price.

He doesn’t know how to respond, stupefied and completely mum— Seungcheol has never been on the receiving end of Jihoon’s genuine ruthlessness, despite the nature of his job.

After the exchange, they make the rest of the way to administration in silence, with the noise and chatter of their co-workers in some untouchable layer hidden in the background. Jihoon speaks to the people he needs to speak to, pressing the cold metal of the company keys into his hands _._

The drive there doesn’t take long. Time has become warped and minutes pass by like seconds, as Seungcheol’s consciousness tries to sort out what’s actually happening. He takes a few lefts then a right, but drives straight for most of the journey, following the robotic voice of the GPS which acts as his temporary frontal cortex. They don’t turn the radio on. Jihoon is listening to whatever he’s listening to through his wireless earpieces, tiny whispering voices spilling forth into the car, and Seungcheol doesn’t think he can handle anything else; listening to the radio station, listening to music, feeling things, understanding things; in fears his stunned productivity may disintegrate and he’ll be left to collect the dust and piece himself back together. He can drive. But that’s all he _can_ do right now.

~

It takes a good thirty minutes before they are admitted into the consultation room. The immigration office is busy with people at this time of day and Seungcheol has just enough brain power to loathe this fact. Though, his brain also has enough power to register the wailing child, that has been bouncing on the hip of a panic-stricken mother who’s rattling on in a strange rolling language to a vacant looking worker, totally inattentive to the jumping screams right in her ear. Maybe she’s used to it, however, Seungcheol finds himself wanting to join the wailing soon enough. The waiting seats are filled at every corner as people stare at the hanging screens, waiting for their ticket numbers to be called and alight themselves in the pixels. Jihoon and Seungcheol are the only ‘Korean people’ — though, since when could Seungcheol judge via outer appearance what a person is or isn’t — excluding the actual workers, present. He feels odd and finds himself sneaking glances at Jihoon hunched over his tablet, the very Korean-looking Jihoon, who, in essence, _proposed_ to him to save his own foreign ass.

He’s like seventy-three percent sure that Jihoon doesn’t really like him. The other twenty-seven percent that says otherwise is solely attributed to the fact that he’s been working with Jihoon for nearly four years, and even Seungcheol can recognize the feat in itself, without accidentally killing each other. Yet.

The receptionist has to raise her voice when she calls Jihoon’s number and still, no one makes a move to quiet the baby and her clueless mother.

When they enter, the man behind the desk introduces himself as Park Hyunsoo and gestures towards the two empty chairs, inviting Jihoon and Seungcheol to seat themselves. When they do, Hyunsoo opens Jihoon’s fiancée visa application then abruptly stands and circles his desk to draw the aluminium Venetian blinds down, concealing the little window in the door from onlookers walking past. The room grows a bit darker, just as Seungcheol’s uneasiness does.

“Morning, Jihoon-sshi, and?” Hyunsoo waits for Seungcheol to introduce himself, looking at the PA expectantly but Jihoon beats him to it.

“Seungcheol. This is Choi Seungcheol, Hyunsoo-sshi,” Jihoon says with picture perfect politeness.

“Morning Seungcheol-sshi,” he greets with a cold, tight-lipped smile. Seungcheol shivers through his returning greeting and Jihoon eyes him thoughtfully, still amiable on the surface, but after all these years Seungcheol has become a specialist in reading the many faces and looks of Lee Jihoon — _be careful_ , his eyes say, _be very careful._

“Thank you for coming down to visit us on such short notice, Jihoon-sshi.” Hyunsoo either ignores Seungcheol’s bodily reaction or doesn’t notice and Jihoon waves him off easily, letting him know that it really was no hassle and even throws in a small chuckle for good measure.

“Say, can I ask you gentlemen one question before we go any further?”

Jihoon obliges with an, “of course, Hyunsoo-sshi,” as Seungcheol nods slowly unable to trust his voice not to deceive himself.

“Are you both committing fraud to bypass his repatriation?”

Seungcheol has to master every fibre in his self not to twitch violently. Slowly, very, very slowly glancing over at his boss to gauge his reaction— his poker face is ever-present, not surprised, but his ears go tell-tale pink, for the nth time this morning, and the right dimple in his cheek appears slightly, as if he’s fighting off a scowl— and also some sort of cue to go off.

_What the fuck?_

Hyunsoo looks between the two, watchful eyes trying to glean any ounce of guilt or a non-verbal betrayal of their true intent. He continues after a beat of purposeful silence, “so Jihoon-sshi can keep his position as executive producer in ‘ _Woozy Factory’_?”

“That’s ridiculous,” says Seungcheol softly, just as Jihoon’s disbelieving, ‘where did you hear that?’ broaches the room.

“Ah, someone called us, quite recently and gave us the heads up. Someone named—“

“Seo Samuel?”

“Seo Samuel,” Hyunsoo confirms Jihoon’s guess.

Jihoon looks over to his PA, pity colouring his face, and shakes his head gently, as Seungcheol mirrors him. “It’s such a shame. With Samuel,” Jihoon says solemnly, as he continues to look on, into Seungcheol’s eyes, and surprisingly, oddly, Seungcheol’s viper of uneasiness uncoils just a bit. Jihoon turns back to Hyunsoo, levelling hima look of mock regret (though, only Seungcheol can see through the mockery). “I apologise, Hyunsoo-sshi. Samuel-sshi is nothing but a disgruntled former employee. I’m sorry for any inconvenience he has brought about today. I can see how busy you are.” Jihoon gestures to the waiting area, hands flitting about nervously, the only obvious sign of his uncertainty and Seungcheol siphons that energy into himself, working up an even greater frenzy within his mind, body and soul. His leg bounces on its own accord, staccato beat playing out from his heels and Jihoon’s attention is quickly enraptured by the movement. “If you could just give us the next step, we’ll be out of your hair as quick as we can.” He can hear the tinge of desperation that hangs on the end of his sentence and Seungcheol is both comforted that he isn’t the only one suffering here and quietly distressed at the notion that Jihoon might not have the absolute control he thinks he has in such a high-stress situation— it’s only this stressful because they’re lying out of their God-given teeth.

Hyunsoo— after what feels like a lifetime to Seungcheol and a few more pointed glances between them— relents, sitting back into his office chair and steeples his fingers as he runs the process by them.

“Let me explain the procedure that will follow,” he says seriously, still egging Seungcheol on with his glancing. He can read right through his insouciant nods, Seungcheol thinks. _Cool as a cucumber, channel that vibe, Cheol, you are a cucumber, the coolest cucumber._

“Step one, you will undergo a scheduled interview.” Seungcheol is nodding, still, and that’s only due to his survivalism rearing its head in the form of mimicry. Mimicry of whatever the hell his little boss is doing. When Jihoon nods, Seungcheol nods too. Luckily Seungcheol has a good enough view of Jihoon via peripheral vision, he doesn’t know what he’d do without it.

“I’ll put you each in a room and I’ll ask you every little question a real couple would know about each other.” He can feel his eyebrows furrowing, subconsciously aware of how _screwed_ he is, and raises them just in time to escape danger zone— better to look a bit surprised than worried shitless.

“Step two,” his steepling fingers transform into two peace signs and Seungcheol mouths the number, _four_ , “I dig deeper. I look at your SNS, I talk to your neighbours, I interview your co-workers.” Hyunsoo gets increasingly aggressive, leaning forward and into Seungcheol and Jihoon’s metaphorically bordered space behind the desk, as he lists exactly what he’ll be doing. “If your answers don’t match up at every point,” he stops to point at Jihoon, “ _you,_ will be permanently deported from Korea,” then he moves his accusatory finger in Seungcheol’s direction, “and you, Seungcheol-sshi, will have committed an offence punishable by imprisonment of up to ten years or a fine of twenty million won!” Hyunsoo’s fake cheer by the end of his spiel puts Seungcheol’s nearly fading daze, right back to square one and all Seungcheol can do is gawk between the smiling man and his apathetic boss.

Like a bloodhound, Hyunsoo latches onto Seungcheol’s momentary silence and his smile grows to show his teeth — he might be hallucinating but Seungcheol thinks they look rather sharp.

“So, Seungcheol-sshi,” Hyunsoo leads, gesturing Seungcheol forward with a crooked finger and a very inappropriate wink, “is there anything you want to… talk to me about?”

Jaw clenched like a vice and lips just the same, Seungcheol shakes his head for a moment, “No?” Hyunsoo guesses. Then Seungcheol flashes through his twenty-eight years of life and decides maybe music isn’t really worth it and gradually begins to nod his assent, “a yes?” Then he sees Jihoon, minutely shake his head, but other than that his stoic expression is upheld by the will of God or by the will of the little boss himself. Impatiently, Jihoon taps out a swift beat, only five hits, but the melody rings familiar in Seungcheol’s mind.

“The truth is…” Seungcheol begins, looking down at his lap, “Hyunsoo-sshi, the truth is… Jihoon and I…” Seungcheol doesn’t even register the slip in title, but Jihoon glances at him quickly, with an unreadable look in his eyes. A little approving at the change of address. Seungcheol glances back, unable to look away from his boss, “…are just two people. Two people who weren’t supposed to fall in love.” Gradually a change comes about Jihoon’s expression, softening from something solid and unbreakable, a look even Seungcheol did not notice had carved its way onto his boss’s face, melting into micro-relief. Then Jihoon, as if remembering himself, glances away from his PA and beams with a sweet smile, sliver-moon gaze towards the immigration worker.

“We couldn’t tell anyone we worked with because of the big promotion coming up.” Seungcheol drops that wrench in the gears and is quite certain that it won’t stop the machine from working, maybe dent the metal a bit, but ultimately it would do more good than harm, and this way Seungcheol isn’t stuck with the worst of odds at the end of this whole fiasco. _Yeah, try that on, Mr. Lee._ The Mr. Lee in subconscious mention gasps inaudibly behind a fist, more of a parting of lips than actual breath, in fear that he may give himself away. But Seungcheol is close enough to see the quick expansion and contraction of chest which luckily goes unnoticed by Hyunsoo who is too busy concentrating on Seungcheol.

“Promotion?”

“Yeah.” Seungcheol has grown bold, shedding his daze and looking right into his boss’s, now, confusedly pinched face, leaning over the armrest of his chair to get closer to Jihoon. Testing the borders, so to speak. Jihoon tilts his head in a question. “We both felt, uh… that it would be deeply inappropriate if I were promoted to producer—“

Jihoon quietly whispers, ‘producer,’ echoing his PA and Seungcheol barrels on, emboldened by the non-rejection, “—while we were…” Seungcheol makes a vague hand gesture, but Hyunsoo seems to get the gist, leaning back into his chair with a tired sigh. “So…?”

“Have you two told your parents about your secret love?”

Jihoon laughs, sucking in enough air to compensate for the lack of oxygen over the last minute, and just as abruptly he says, face serious and without any trace of mirth, “Nope. My parents passed a while ago. And I’m an only child.” Seungcheol knew this, still, it’s the first he’s heard from Jihoon’s own mouth. He knows he doesn’t like to mention his parents at all, if he can help it. Hyunsoo doesn’t spare him the common condolences and rips savagely towards Seungcheol— over this appointment and already wanting to be on his way.

“Are your parents dead?” Maybe in a different context, Seungcheol would just as well respond in kind and call out Hyunsoo’s complete bullshit, but he guesses they are the ones inciting the bullshit in the first place, so they’re even.

Jihoon seems to have found his voice again, taking the reins once more.

“No, his are very much still alive,” says Jihoon lightly. “They’re, ah… Well, we were going to tell them this weekend.” As expected, his boss really knows how to one up Seungcheol, always. That’s why he’s the executive producer despite being one year his youth. Wow.

Seungcheol looks over to Jihoon’s general direction, but not quite actually looking, hope and disbelief blooming and rooting him where he sits. “During halmeoni’s 90th. The whole family will be there. We were planning on telling them then. As a surprise and a gift.” He finishes wistfully, smiling to himself at the prospect of a Choi family gathering. Seungcheol finds himself reflecting the strange elation as well. It’s probably not genuine on Jihoon’s part, but like hell will that dampen Seungcheol’s own joy at the news.

But, just as quickly, his elation falls into the depths of dismay and Seungcheol realises he has to lie to everyone he loves. _Fuck_. Jihoon pats his shoulder, the third point of contact deliberately made by his boss this morning, trying to convey comfort and reassurance, but failing miserably with the stilted awkwardness of his movements. Seungcheol tries to grab his hands but misses as Jihoon drops his hand back into his lap, ending up in some strange imitation of a self-embrace.

Jihoon then looks back to Hyunsoo and drops his final bomb for the day: “We’re flying to Jeju-do tonight, actually.”

“Fine. I see how this is going to go,” Hyunsoo sighs and stands from his chair, Jihoon and Seungcheol following a step behind. He scrawls something onto a yellow post-it note and pulls at the chain, expertly slicing at the top note with his pen. “I will see you both on Monday, eleven sharp, for your scheduled interview.” Seungcheol graciously accepts the note and hurries ahead of Jihoon to get the door. Jihoon bows, deeper than usual, and mutters his thanks and goodbyes, and in unison Jihoon and Seungcheol express their enthusiasm for the interview and Hyunsoo just shakes his head. “Your answers better match up on every account.” The threat falls on deaf ears as Jihoon immediately takes a call but Seungcheol’s gaze wavers, and he stumbles out of the consultation room, just shy of sprinting away.

Jihoon is still on call when Seungcheol rounds on him, stopping in the middle of the driving path in the underground parking lot. “So that thing I said about being promoted…” Seungcheol starts heavily. Jihoon also stops, finally registering his PA speaking and with haste, attempts to end the call. Seungcheol waits until he does so, glaring all the while.

“That was quite genius of you by the way, I think you got him with that ploy,” Jihoon compliments quietly, but its amplified by the acoustics of the parking lot.

“It wasn’t a ploy, Jihoon,” Seungcheol says, irritation colouring his voice as he bites out the name. Jihoon raises his brows, unused to such behaviour (and also his name) coming from his personal assistant. “I’m looking at a twenty-million won fine, if they’re feeling nice, or, if they aren’t, ten years in prison. That changes things.”

“If I refuse to promote you to producer?”

“Then I quit. And you’re fucked. Goodbye, Mr. Lee, it was alright working for you!” Seungcheol says with fake cheer, flipping their power statuses on their heads and turning around to walk back to the car. He can hear Jihoon’s steps lurch to follow.

“Seungcheol-sshi!”

“It really has been the best time.” Seungcheol says, sardonically, sarcastic, and riding the new power high before he inevitably crashes back down to earth and into smithereens.

“Seuncheo— Seungcheol-hyung! Fine, fine!” Seungcheol stops and turns back around to face his yet-to-be-official former boss, eyebrows raised and waiting. “I’ll make you producer. Alright,” Jihoon says breathlessly, panic stealing the air in his lungs, but he still manages to try and seemingly take control of the situation. Seungcheol almost cackles when he says, “if you do the Jeju-do weekend trip and the immigration interview I’ll make you producer. Happy?” Jihoon acts like he’s making the offers but Seungcheol can still see the ball in his playing field. Maybe he’s caught a little bit of that insanity-bug from Jihoon, or maybe it’s just the after-effects of working for such a man finally showing its symptoms.

“Actually, I’m not. Happy, that is.” Jihoon gapes at Seungcheol but doesn’t make an attempt to offer more and appease his only saviour.

Typical, Lee Jihoon.

“I want you to offer my samples for the next project if you see the concept fits.”

“You— What?” Jihoon breathes, angry and also a little scared as he balls his fists tightly.

“And we'll tell my family about our engagement when I want and how I want.” Jihoon cannot reject the requests not if he wants to stay in Korea, and Seungcheol knows this truth.

“Fine! Now, are you happy?” Seungcheol pretends to consider Jihoon’s question, and all his boss can do is stare and wait for the verdict. Seungcheol holds all the power in this moment and decides (well, he decided a while ago) that he can cull one more request from Jihoon.

“I want a real one.” Seungcheol says, purposefully vague just to be annoying.

“A real what?” Jihoon hisses.

“A real proposal.” Seungcheol walks back to Jihoon and smiles down at him. Jihoon is not at all shy with his glower and Seungcheol knows that Jihoon knows what is expected of him. It also doesn’t help that a crowd chooses this moment to make their way into the car park. Jihoon scoffs but proceeds to bend a knee. Kneeling on one joint and keeping his left leg at a ninety-degree bend, he conjures up a smile out of his ass and says in monotone: “Choi Seungcheol, will you marry me?”

“Nope.”

His next attempt is a fraction better but still Seungcheol rejects Jihoon’s second proposal. The executive producer becomes wary and the crowd has long since made it to their cars, however no cars have actually left the parking lot yet. They’re obviously watching this train wreck with morbid curiosity.

With a deep breath, Jihoon centres himself once more, shuffling on his sore knee and Seungcheol looks down at him, curiously.

“Choi Seungcheol, would you do me the honour of becoming my husband?” Jihoon keeps his eyes closed throughout the proposal and whispers it into the parking lot, only loud enough for Seungcheol to hear, escaping the acoustics of the underground space, falling only on his intended’s ears.

“Alright.”

And Seungcheol walks away with a grin, leaving a flailing Jihoon to make his way back up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the final part of the introduction, finally, i swear, and the next instalment we fly to jeju-do, as always thank you for reading and i hope it made you smile :)


	4. 1 plus 1 (it’s two)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like it’s been a little while, I hope everyone is well! This update is a little bit slower in pacing and got some super cliche moments but personally I think some cliches are hella fun, so I hope you enjoy either way~~ oo and we also get a tiny eensy bit of background stuff

This is the worst idea he’s ever even thought of and put into action— he might as well _die_ from  stupidity.

Despite the added workload, Jihoon reshuffles his priorities and plans the flight to Jeju-do as soon as they get back to the studio.

“I booked our flight for 10:20 PM tonight,” he says over his shoulder, not expecting a response. He doesn’t get one, only the nearly-silent tapping of fingers on a screen any indicator of Seungcheol’s presence. Jihoon is afraid he might develop some kind of heart disease given how his blood pressure has spiked over the past few hours— it’s not even twelve yet and Jihoon’s about ready to lie down for the day.

They call in early for the day after they organise all the major items for the upcoming project and schedule every possible meeting they think they might need to hold— both offline and online. Seungcheol retires in the early afternoon with an apathetic goodbye, and a small list of reminders for Jihoon. He hears half of it, still too caught up with trying to finish his share of the demo before it is delivered back to the team for finalisation.

“...take your coffee break and I’ll be at your apartment by seven to pick you up, alright?” Seungcheol waits by the door for any semblance of an answer and Jihoon hums quietly to signal that he’s got it without sparing a look at his PA. Not long after that Jihoon decides to head back to his apartment and finish off his work at home, that way he can also ponder over what he can bring to meet his in-laws.  _ God_.

Luckily, Jihoon is gifted with a single-minded intensity and can hardly become distracted in his pursuits in song making— so even the Choi Seungcheol-related thoughts that inevitably pierce through his work-haze barely make a dent in his flow. Though, the litany of, ‘ _God, I’m screwed and an idiot, ugh_ ,’  nearly does the trick.

~

His alarm blares atrociously and Jihoon wakes with such a start, kicking at the small suitcase still open and jarring his big toe on the metal lining. He’s on the floor groaning and patting around his immediate area for his phone until he finds it somewhere above his head, pounding on the screen to stop the noise. Another notification appears, as the phone starts ringing once more, however, it’s with one of his oldest compositions, the light and melancholic piano piece set as his ringtone.

“Ugh. What is it,” Jihoon grunts into the speaker burying the questioning inflection until it’s disappeared and it’s less a question and more of a quiet bark. Jihoon tries to sit up but the weight of his recent nap is still heavy on his limbs.

“I’m outside. Do you need any help?” Seungcheol, through the other side of the speaker, deadpans and Jihoon wakes up a little more. He can clearly picture the unimpressed look on his PA’s face in his minds eye and cringes at the sight. He takes the phone from his ear and quickly looks at the screen that blinks back at him, 19:00 right on the dot, and clears his throat away from the phone.

“Yes. I mean no. I don’t need any help, but I’ll be down in a minute.” He hangs up then, scrambling to zip up his suitcase, throwing on a light jacket and a cap to cover his unruly cow-licked hair, and nearly busts a knee trying to balance his equipment bag on his leg when he tries to free a hand to press the button to the lift.

Seungcheol is waiting in the drivers seat, car parked in front of the apartment, boot already open, and Jihoon wastes no time slinging his suitcase into the empty half of the boot and with a little more care, places his equipment bag in too. His PA is out of his usual work attire, soft in a large grey hoodie, sweats to match and Seungcheol’s favourite navy bucket hat— a gift (it was a secret Santa exchange and he still managed to get his PA, what are the odds?) from Jihoon a few years ago, and every time Jihoon sees Seungcheol out of his office clothes he’s donning it. Bucket hat related musings never fail to fill him with an inexplicable sense of warmth, so Jihoon just lets himself feel it without thinking too much on the exact why’s and how’s.

“Wow you look like shit,” says Seungcheol as Jihoon closes the door after him— he rolls his eyes at his PA. 

“Shut it, Choi, I finished the demo in six hours flat, then packed for forty minutes, so don’t be an ass, thanks and goodnight.” Jihoon’s lack of any real bite or irritation gets Seungcheol to look over at his boss, but Jihoon doesn’t notice his PA’s concerned gaze hidden under the lip of his hat, as he reaches back and struggles to grasp the belt.

After securing his seatbelt, Jihoon shuffles in the leather seat, crossing his arms and leans against the headrest. He’s slouching so severely Seungcheol shakes his head and, once again, the action goes unnoticed by Jihoon who closes his eyes.

“Night, Jihoon.”

One. Two. He opens them again. “Actually I already power napped,” Jihoon confesses with a sigh.

“I know.” Seungcheol smoothly moves out of the parking space, the tidy work of his small BMW; the only thing Jihoon knows Seungcheol has actually put money to, this and the same music software Jihoon uses, purchased on his own second-hand laptop.

“How could you possibly know, Choi?”

“What happened to Seungcheol-hyung?” Seungcheol sulks and Jihoon shrugs lazily in response. The few hours away from one another has seemingly calmed his PA down, as he turns the volume up on the radio just enough to comfortably fill the space in the car not already filled with their breaths, tapping out the current melody filtering through on the steering wheel. “Anyways, you have your power-nap look, y’know, it’s your eyes, they get a tiny bit puffy every time. Also my call definitely woke you up, you sounded like you just woke up.”

Jihoon grumbles incomprehensible not-words as he brings his fingers to touch lightly underneath his eyes, almost unconsciously. He can feel the tips of his ears flush hotly, quite embarrassed and something else he doesn’t want to identify (pleased, maybe. Actually,  _nope_ ).

They drive with the latest Ailee song bleeding through the stereos, crooning about an old longing and sleepless nights lost to the memory of a love gone.

“If you want to convince everyone that we’re getting married, you can at least call me hyung. At least... Bare minimum,” Seungcheol says quietly after a while, flexing his fingers on the steering wheel. Jihoon contemplates Seungcheol’s suggestion, but no response is immediately delivered and Seungcheol assumes Jihoon didn’t hear him. Seungcheol leans into his space and glances over at him, humming in question.

Jihoon looks out, away from his PA, and concentrates on the passing street lamps, blurring streams of lights, on the highway.

“Just... drive, hyung.”

This time he does fall asleep, only to the backdrop of Seungcheol whispering along to the radio.

~

“...ee, Mr. Lee.” Then a pause. “Jihoon.” Seungcheol gently shakes his arm. “We’re here,” says Seungcheol. Jihoon wakes at the gentle coaxing and even gentler shakes, quietly alert. The bright white light that bathes the airport parking bay is all he can see for a moment as his eyes struggle to adjust— looking over at Seungcheol helps with the onslaught of light as his PA blocks most of the window, only letting out a halo of light through. “I’m gonna grab our bags.”

Jihoon hums in response and rubs his knuckles over his eyes to rid himself of any lingering sleep.

He joins Seungcheol outside, all the luggage already out of the boot and together they make there way to their allocated check-in queue.

Everything goes smoothly— though, Jihoon forgot to weigh his luggage beforehand, it’s still within the limit, and he sighs in relief at not having to leave any of his valuables behind at the airport to be... whatever is done to things that are left behind at an airport. Thank God he travels light. They clear security early and still have an hour to wait at the boarding gate. Jihoon pulls out his laptop, deciding that the work never stops, especially if you’re on an impromptu trip using the combined force of both Seungcheol and his own travel miles and the unused paid annual leave Jihoon hasn’t touched since he became an executive producer all those years ago.

“Seriously, Jihoon.” The name still sounds foreign coming out of Seungcheol’s mouth, like he’s learning a new language that has passed out of this century, and Jihoon suspects that Seungcheol  feels strange calling him by his first name. “I thought you said you finished the demo?” The soft reproach is tired and Jihoon squirrels away from Seungcheol’s pampering hands attempting to steal the laptop.

“Seungcheol-ss — _hyung_ ,”  Jihoon catches himself— he’s just as bad, if Seungcheol is learning a new, dying language, Jihoon is learning how to speak  sounds ,  “ you know better than anyone else that there’s still work to be done. It never lets up especially with the side projects. And there’s never any harm in starting on any future projects too,” Jihoon says brightly, energy revitalised from two power naps, the effects of rest finally kicking in. Again, he’s a bit of a workaholic. He just really loves music, sue him. Jihoon is aware that, technically, he doesn’t have any more work to do for the day, courtesy of a very productive day in the studio and at home and evidently his PA is also aware of this.

Seungcheol refuses to give up in his pursuit in purloining Jihoon’s HP Elite Dragonfly, so Jihoon tries his mightiest to stretch and lean away from his awfully irritating PA, all up in his space, too lazy to get up and effectively avoid his thieving attempts by finding a different seat.

At one point Seungcheol’s other arm reaches behind him, catching him totally unawares and in another moment Jihoon finds himself loosely caged in Seungcheol’s dynamic embrace— his hands are still grasping and wiggling, trying to reach his laptop, face pinched with a laser focus on the prize.

“Um,” Jihoon whispers turning to face Seungcheol in the same moment Seungcheol lets out a triumphant, ‘Aha!’, fingers finally closing in on the smooth surface of the laptop. His PA is close enough for their noses to brush and they nearly do but Jihoon stills in his place just before such a thing can happen. He traces the shadow of stubble on his upper lip and on his strong chin with a look and observes the exact moment Seungcheol’s pupils flicker away from the laptop and towards Jihoon’s face, bright even in the shadow of his bucket hat. His eyes look tired with puffiness and the spiderweb of green is just a little more prominent under his eyes, veins uncovered from its healthy fat— it’s the first time in a long time, or maybe even ever, that Jihoon has really looked at Seungcheol.

Jihoon’s hands fall away from his hold on his laptop, limply and in a daze and Seungcheol scrambles for purchase on the expensive piece of tech— Jihoon also catches the flicker of attention and panic back to the laptop and then again back to himself.

“Whoa! Jihoon, you nearly...... dropped that...” Seungcheol’s eyes widen with the realisation of his proximity to Jihoon, words trailing off a cliff and falling to somewhere faraway and quiet.

Jihoon peers up into Seungcheol’s eyes and honestly, he really doesn’t know what to do. He opens his mouth to say something, anything, just for the sake of speaking, or just doing anything besides what they are doing now. But, alas, it’s not entirely working with the small movement attracting Seungcheol gaze like a bee to pollen— in the makings of something sweet. It’s strange to see himself reflected in Seungcheol’s eyes, and the man looking back at him looks awestruck— Jihoon is looking back at himself awestruck and maybe Seungcheol looks just the same.

“Uh, yeah. Right.” Wait, his laptop— his precious baby dropped— he swivels in his seat, “oh my God!” Seungcheol’s grasp is lax when Jihoon snatches the laptop back, and Jihoon turns back to face Seungcheol, reproach hot on his tongue but he stops himself when he catches the last remnants of a fast abating simper and Seungcheol quickly looks up to the ceiling overhead, lights blinding. He still stares anyways. Jihoon let’s him hide away in the light and looks down at his lap, hands fidgeting around his HP. After a breath, slowly, Seungcheol draws his arm back safely into his own lap and Jihoon is hyper aware of the movement like a python dragging across his shoulders, warm from a day of sunbathing amongst stone and slate.

“Well, I have a better idea than work,” says Seungcheol, evenly. Jihoon is disappointed, unknowing of why exactly he is so, but he expected... Never mind.

Seungcheol reaches into his carry on and slaps a file of papers into his lap. It looks an awful lot like work to Jihoon. “We gotta study up on each other,” Seungcheol says then grins, levelling a smug look towards his boss, “actually,  _you_ have to study up. I’m pretty sure I know just about everything there is to know about you,” Seungcheol boasts.

As if.

Jihoon secures his laptop back in its carrier and accepts the proffered papers held together by Seungcheol’s cherry-shaped wireclip.

‘Preparing for a Green Card Interview’,  Jihoon reads silently, scanning the questions.  _Where did you meet?_ Actually that’s a funny story because, technically, they met each other in university during their final year (Jihoon skipped a year and started uni earlier than his peers), at a social gathering Jihoon really didn’t want to be attending and Seungcheol, already drunk off his mind, was playing his own drinking game— Jihoon is very sure Seungcheol was unaware of his existence, even when Yoon Jeonghan pushed him towards his then-not-yet-to-be personal assistant and introduced him swiftly and only getting a giggly ‘ _annyeonghasseyo, ess-coups ibnida,_ ’ in response (Jeonghan had slapped him for that and didn’t even let Seungcheol redeem himself and actually tell Jihoon his mother-given name, “it’s his rapper pseudo.” And Jihoon could only stare, “his alias is scoops?”), passing Jihoon around the table like a hot potato. He left the restaurant early and never even had the chance to stand within a five meter radius of the popular student— though, they were in totally different faculties, Seungcheol stuck doing something in the field of early education and Jihoon right on course with his music composition degree— after their initial meeting. To say Jihoon was surprised to see his SNU peer, an early Ed major, applying for a PA job, specifically  _his_ PA job, is an understatement.

(Seungcheol has a vague idea that Jihoon attended the same university as him but other than that, he believes their first meeting was during his interview nearly four years ago.)

_Where was your first date?_ There was that one time, last year, Seungcheol decided to forego getting Jihoon his obligatory birthday present— Seungcheol made it obligatory upon himself, Jihoon had nothing to do with it— instead, logging out all of Jihoon’s work hours during his twenty-sixth birthday and working double time the week before to ensure Jihoon had essentially no work during his birthday week, perfectly executed under Jihoon’s very nose (Jihoon was very dismayed at the fact and not to mention absolutely puzzled), to plan his little surprise party and following dinner plans which were too luxurious even for Jihoon’s favourite Anderson Bell denim and Gucci sweats. In Jihoon’s vague concept of a date he thinks it fits the bill, with just Seungcheol for company, he really did enjoy that particular birthday and still managed to find some work to do. (“Mr. Lee,” Seungcheol had started wearily, eyeing his tablet and the files opened on the screen at the lowest brightness, nevertheless, a grin slowly bloomed in place, “no work during our date, sir.”)

Jihoon flips through the pages blowing over the generic questions,  _favourite colour? Who proposed to whom? What do the two of you have in common?_ Then he stops on the second last page, questions finally piquing his interest.

“You really know all of this about me?”

“Yep. It’s sad isn’t it?” Seungcheol asks rhetorically, trying to be cheeky. Jihoon doesn’t answer the question knowing Seungcheol wasn’t looking for one.

“Okay...” Jihoon drawls and clicks his tongue. “Oh, how about this one? What am I allergic to?”

“I’m pretty sure you’re, like, allergic to alcohol but not actually allergic.” Yep, his PA is quite on the nose. Jihoon’s body suffers if he ever consumes alcohol, Hansol (an old university buddy— Jihoon wonders how that oddball is going), dubbed his severe Asian flush an allergic reaction and ever since, Jihoon has been telling everyone who asks that he’s allergic to alcohol, thinking it’s a tad more dignified than admitting his low to non-existent tolerance.

“Huh, alright.” Jihoon searches for another question and Seungcheol turns to face his boss, knocking his knees into Jihoon’s thigh. “Hmm... what was my childhood dream job?”

“That— that’s definitely not on the list.” Seungcheol looks put out at Jihoon’s sudden deviance, vexed at having his printed words disregarded and Jihoon doing whatever he likes— going off script. If Seungcheol has one pet peeve it is going off-script and Jihoon enjoys going off-script enough to be deemed a pet peeve himself— Lee Jihoon, Seungcheol’s second pet peeve (however, this is a semi-baseless assumption).

“What if they throw you some curveballs, they’re not bound to ask these exact questions— I’m preparing you, hyung. You know everything there is to know about me anyways.” Jihoon’s voice edges on mocking but he knows how to toe the line when it comes to teasing his PA, he doesn’t do it often but when he can he knows his limits. His rationale evidently resonates with Seungcheol as his PA makes an obvious display of mulling his words over, hand under chin and pout in action— thinking face  _on_.

“You’re right, Jihoon-ah...” Seungcheol is still speaking his foreign language, or at least trying to, and trails off for a moment searching through the recesses of his mind to clue him in on any idea that might point to Jihoon’s childhood ambitions— he exhales softly from his nose, like he’s found something quite amusing but is making the effort to quash it down. Gently, he smiles. “You wanted to play league baseball,” his PA replies, preening with self-satisfaction when he sees the look on Jihoon’s face.

Jihoon blinks at Seungcheol, his body unconsciously turned into his space and breathes a wordless exclamation at the answer.

He really does know.

~

Even in their ‘allocated’ seats (actually his PA takes  his window seat, “Jihoon can we switch, I kind of get queasy when flying,” and wordlessly, Jihoon lets him squeeze through taking Seungcheol’s aisle seat without a complaint and learns another something new about his personal assistant) they continue with their little game, quizzing one another; well, it’s mostly Seungcheol quizzing Jihoon because it has been well established that Seungcheol already  learnt—  a fortunate byproduct of his occupational duties, Jihoon tells himself, and not because Seungcheol has a semblance of interest in him; his  _boss_. No, sir.

The flight to Jeju-do is a short one. Skimming just over the hour, in that time Jihoon learns more about Seungcheol than he has over the last three years.

“Okay, but I’m impressed you nearly guessed my embarrassing stage name!” Seungcheol chortles, flush with embarrassment but also giddiness at experiencing his boss like this— like they’re just two people getting to know one another out of genuine curiosity and not because they have a scheduled interview they need to nail in four days, lest they’re deported or jailed or fined, either or.

Very fun.

Seungcheol is sure he never told Jihoon of his dark past and Jihoon softens the blow by feeding a white lie to his PA. “You remember Jeonghan back in SNU?” Seungcheol winces then nods, “yeah, well, he kind of spilled your secret underground alias during a party or something— Can’t believe we never crossed paths in uni,” says Jihoon, trailing off topic and laughing nervously. Seungcheol shrugs as if he isn’t at all surprised.

“Comp majors and Ed majors don’t really have any crossover units.” They don’t, but in a burst of serendipity, or maybe a burst of a certain Yoon, they met anyways. It’s just, Seungcheol doesn’t recall the fact.

The seatbelt signal blinks red, dinging.

_ ‘Ladies and gentlemen, as we start our descent, please make sure your seat backs and tray tables are in their full upright position. Make sure your seat belt is securely fastened and all carry-on luggage is stowed underneath the seat in front of you or in the overhead bins. Thank you.’ _

Autumn still brings chilly winds and mild rain so turbulence is inevitable at this time of year. Jihoon isn’t too troubled by the sudden movement and jolting but Seungcheol frantically whispers under his breath and grips the ends of the armrests that have been brought down, back into place. Jihoon copes with the slight discomfort by shifting his focus away from the cool voice still announcing over the intercoms and his pool of physical tangibility— the movement of the seat below him and the pressure of the belt wrought around his waist— and onto his PA next to him, marking every small movement he makes, panicking enough for the both of them. He can hear him murmuring a litany of curses which stop when the turbulence gets especially nasty, jolting them against their seatbelts and Seungcheol’s grip moves, the tight vice migrating from reinforced plastic and metal to Jihoon’s wrist beside his own. Jihoon flinches at the sudden and overbearing contact but doesn’t pull his arm away recognising Seungcheol’s need for physical reassurance— an anchor to tether himself to, and he’s chosen Jihoon. 

Jihoon relaxes as much as he can with the flying hunk of metal still shuddering with the force of nature, and quietly, absently, shifts his arm back as Seungcheol’s grasp turns lax, aligning his hands against Seungcheol’s own— if he looked down at them he would see that his hands are slightly bigger, longer, though Seungcheol’s are broader— and clasps them together in an attempt at succouring his PA. Jihoon looks ahead, pertinacious, down the aisle following the fluorescent strips of light along its path. Seungcheol squeezes back.

~

Jihoon is ahead of Seungcheol and another passenger is between them. It’s 11:37 PM when they exit the plane and the cool crisp air is a welcome inspiration, knocking the sleepiness from Jihoon. He nearly stumbles down the narrow metal steps but other than that he makes it safely towards the tarmac, Seungcheol catching up to him as Jihoon settles down his heavy carry-on for a moment massaging the dull ache in his deltoids. They’re sleepy little things when they collect their baggage; Jihoon is nesting his head in his arms leaning over the handle bar of the trolley having sent Seungcheol away to fetch their luggage from the moving conveyer belt. Seungcheol is scaring Jihoon with the way he stares, eyes wide and dazed, at the small opening in the wall where the baggage emerges, but everyone is doing the same, arms crossed and waiting quietly, maybe not patiently, to get their stuff and be on their way.

Jihoon pushes the loaded trolley. Not having to declare anything, they’re fast-tracked through security and make it to arrivals by 12 AM. People are loitering around, family and friends waiting by the entrance zone to greet the incomers. Seungcheol doesn’t have to strain his gaze to find his family. His mother and who Jihoon assumes is his  _halmeoni_ stand in the centre of the waiting area in clear sight of the entrance gates and wave zealously, infectious and pumping a vitality back into his PA. Seungcheol whirls towards Jihoon and says, “that’s them! Eomma and halmeoni!” Seungcheol waves back and points to Jihoon, silently and exaggeratedly mouthing something to them— though, Jihoon doesn’t catch it standing where he is, just behind his PA. The Choi women nod and turn their gummy smiles (that’s where Seungcheol gets it from) towards Jihoon who can only wave back, small and bashful.

Both women sweep Seungcheol up in an tangled embrace. Jihoon cannot even fathom how it works but it does, and Seungcheol lifts both of them off their feet giving them a little twirl. Jihoon isn’t entirely sure who is squealing; for all he knows it could definitely be his PA.

“Hello, my baby boy! We’ve missed you, Cheollie. So, so, so, so much!” Mrs. Choi sing songs and her voice is thick with emotion like she’s about to cry but her eyes shine and her tears stay unshed— she’s absolutely elated. His halmeoni just smiles at her grandson, unadulterated and without the wet emotion that her daughter is showing, eyes crescenting and crows feet deepening and all she says is, “I’m glad, Seungcheollie,” and pushes a lock of hair that peeps out from his bucket hat back behind his ear. Her thumb caresses tenderly against his cheekbone. 

Jihoon stands behind the trolley, awkward and suddenly wanting to hide inside their luggage, but after Seungcheol blubbers something through his (“there not!”) tears he gently tugs Jihoon into him, laying a hand at his waist.

“Eommoni, halmangie. This is Lee Jihoon.”

They smile, radiant, and then Mrs. Choi reaches over to shake his hand. Jihoon graciously accepts her grip and bows deeply.

“Hello, Mr. Lee,” she says, friendly and slightly playful, “hello, Jihoon. Treat our Cheollie well as his boyfriend, will you?” Ah, yes. Seungcheol briefed him in on the whole, ‘ _the family knows you’re my mans because I told them as soon as I got home, cool?_ ’ during their wait at the boarding gate and Jihoon had just accepted the fact that they really were doing this. As he straightens, Jihoon answers his assent, ‘ _of course I’ll try and treat him right,_ ’ and the guilt gnaws at his fingers and toes and proximally claws towards his centre, shuddering.

Seungcheol tightens his hold on his waist.

Jihoon exhales when Mrs. Choi drops his hand and goes in for a quick hug. Behind her, Seungcheol’s halmeoni narrows her eyes at Jihoon and he bows once again when Mrs. Choi finishes her affectionate ministrations.

“Wait, is this the same man you call ‘baby boss’ and ‘angry cherry tomato’, Cheollie?”

Seungcheol chokes on his own sputter and his halmeoni waddles towards Jihoon, a small bewildered thing, and gives her grandson’s boyfriend a gentle hug too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought cheols pov got me writing long chapters but at this point so does jihoons haha!  
> Thank you for reading and have an awesome time~ And a special thanks to all the readers who have interacted with this fic so far, I love it so much and appreciate all the input you give ahh!


	5. Unwelcome welcoming party pt. 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh yeah my dudes i actually wrote stuff, woohoo, andddd i have a double update because it was getting too much and i wanted to write in both povs yehehehe
> 
> I feel obligated to point out that this is 100% FICTION and i do not know anything about Choi seungcheol or his family, all of it was made up hah, so please always respect the privacy of others <3  
> That being said i hope y’all have a fun time with my unedited chapters — i really pushed myself to write these out and completed about the last 4000 word in the last two days, so I’ll definitely makes some little edits here and there over the course of next week if I have time.
> 
> I hope everyone stays safe in these trying times; we had a emergency lockdown in Perth with one case after ten months of peace and wow I realized how lucky we’ve been so far with the pandemic  
> Let these chapters be a bit of an escape as they were for me.

Choi Misuk, formerly a Na, is a beautiful, lithe woman and passed down her large almond eyes, benign heart and smiling dimples to her son. Choi Chunja, Seungcheol’s paternal grandmother, is the spitting image of her son, Choi Jaesung, but carries none of the austerity that plagues Seungcheol’s father as of late and essentially reared Seungcheol from near-birth. 

Seungcheol cannot describe the elation he feels in this moment, walking between his eomma and halmeoni with his arms looped between each of their own. It feels like home. It is home. And, boy, did he miss it. 

They catch up on everything Seungcheol can remember in his five years away from Jeju-do, which isn’t much given his days as a PA mostly bleed together and anything worth telling has already been told through an electronic speaker. They talk over one another but still communicate effectively as they trade anecdotes and laughter alike. It surprises him, how much there is to talk about and at the same time how little— he doesn’t want to dwell on a past that doesn’t include his lovely family and simply bask in the present moment. 

“Halmangie, what did you eat for dinner?” Seungcheol asks, genuinely curious, and gently tugs her closer. 

“We had  _dalkjuk_ ,  Cheollie. It’s getting colder these days so your mum and I are cooking a lot more porridge— oh, and stews too,” she replies, smiling up at her grandson, a perfect mirror of his joy. Seungcheol whines about missing their home cooking and begins recounting the dismal situation back in Seoul, where all he ever eats is takeout— he omits how he supplements those meals with instant ramyeon in a pinch— already, his halmeoni and eomma are chastising his behaviour, lecturing Seungcheol on cost effective meal ideas and teaching him the ways of meal preparation. He mostly eats takeout because Jihoon only ever eats it with convenience more sought after than the actual  _ nutrients _ of good food. Jihoon is walking on his right side, beside his eomma but trailing just behind her as he drives the baggage trolley steadily. His mother had offered to help push the trolley instead, but Jihoon had kindly declined the offer of help, encouraging her to walk with Seungcheol and not to worry about him, smiling that dainty smile of his. 

If it’s even possible, Jihoon is more taciturn than ever. Faced with his eomma and halmeoni’s questioning, Jihoon speaks succinctly, but still kindly, or responds with a nod or shake of his head. 

Seungcheol can tell Jihoon feels awkward as he ducks his head to hide his face behind the bill of his cap, only ever coming back up when addressed or asked a question. Seungcheol inwardly sighs— at least they aren’t pestering Jihoon about their love life, actually, or even pestering himself. It’s a bit strange,Seungcheol thinks. The Choi women always mean well but Seungcheol can’t deny that they can be very nosy at (all) times, almost overbearing in their curiosity. Maybe they can also sense Jihoon’s trepidation— just as much as they are nosy, they are emotionally attuned and sensitive to the nature of others. 

When Seungcheol had broken the news of his secret relationship with his boss a mere twelve hours ago, he expected a lot more opposition and disbelief from his mother— a kind woman she may be, but she is also fiery and overprotective when it comes to her youngest son. 

(“Sweetie, why are we only hearing about this now?” She had asked. Seungcheol made up some bullshit answer, pained at having to deceive his eomma— a love that couldn’t be fought but one they chose to hide. “As long as you’re happy and not spending your years in Seoul alone, Cheollie. Anything is better than that.” Of course, Seungcheol wasn’t privy to his halmeoni’s reaction and could only take his mother’s word that she had taken the news well, was excited even, and immediately requested a meeting with his boss— his  _boyfriend_ — in person, and inevitably he segued into the actual good news. He didn’t ask— didn’t want to  know,  more like— how his father felt about the whole ordeal.) He couldn’t really imagine how the interaction would go down if his father had picked up the phone instead, or if he came to the airport with his eomma and halmeoni to welcome him back home after so long. 

A stagnant silence builds for a moment as if the Choi women can glean and pick apart Seungcheol’s inner musings without the interference of chatter and noise.

“Your appa said he’ll meet us at home. You know how he is. Always busy,” says his eomma. She looks down and Seungcheol catches the way her smile falls before it’s back up and leveled towards her son. Even so, it doesn’t reach her eyes. 

~

“Cheollie, you can’t make Jihoon-ah handle all the luggage— what kind of man did we raise, hmm?” His eomma says with all the serene authority of a woman who has birthed and borne children. Although it is said sweetly, more disposition than actual endeavor on his mother’s part, he is zapped by the underlying reprove; a soft-hearted tween once again. Seungcheol whines at the accusation but doesn’t immediately move to help, some petty part of him relishing in the fact that he can get away with making his boss do all the heavy work, even if it’s only for a few minutes. The Choi women would castrate him in a heartbeat if Seungcheol refused to help someone, especially someone so, apparently, significant in his life. His eomma gives him that, ‘ _ boy-I-will-stand-here-disappointed-for-as-long-as-I-need-to _ ’ look for a good minute before Seungcheol caves. Jihoon just finishes loading Seungcheol’s larger carrier before Seungcheol walks back to the boot, having helped his halmeoni into the passenger seat. His mother’s murmured warnings chase at his retreating heels and she finally sits in the drivers side like the queen she is. Jihoon straightens and stands akimbo, glowering at his PA when he joins him. _Unbelievable_. 

“Oh, thanks for finally deciding to give me some help,  Seungcheol-hyung ,” Jihoon hisses, but its borderline playful and he’s leaning close to Seungcheol, bowing slightly to hide behind the roof of the lifted boot. Hiding from the rear view mirrors and trying to fit into a blind spot just in case his eomma and halmeoni try to spy. Jihoon has loaded a single bag. Just one. God, It’s been, what, a day, more or less, since Seungcheol has shirked his duty to respond to Jihoon’s every beck and call, and his boss is already being... a petulant mess. 

Seungcheol mirrors Jihoon’s shifty behaviour before he responds with his own brand of playful goading: “Hey, I’m helping you loads,  _ babe _ .” If Jihoon teases with pettiness and pouting, Seungcheol’s on the other end of the spectrum with the full force of endearment at his side and an arsenal of pet names he isn’t afraid to use. (“No unnecessary PDA or flirting when there aren’t any people around to see it,” Jihoon had said during their write up of how exactly the weekend was going to go. Seungcheol said, “alright.”) He grins, a devilish glint in his eye, which totally subverts the honeyed tone he’s adopted, as he waits for Jihoon’s response. Jihoon doesn’t. Respond, that is. Not straight away, anyways, and continues glowering, the muscle underneath his eye twitching, but Seungcheol isn’t entirely sure why; or maybe he canstab at a guess.

“I don’t see  _you_ hauling,  _babe_ .” His guess was totally off the mark. Seungcheol takes that blow with a regal snort and reaches over to aid Jihoon’s struggle with his own heavy baggage. The slew of giggles— only Seungcheol is outwardly giggling but he suspects Jihoon is close to joining him, amusement sparkling in his eyes, a juxtaposition to his cute, little scowl— that erupt shortly after slowly peter out as they finish loading their bags. And when Jihoon closes the boot with a dull slam, Seungcheol has a sudden urge to clarify his earlier statement.

“This whole trip is help, alright,” Seungcheol begins, quietly, serious, and Jihoon’s pervading mock-grimace drops in lieu of a more neutral expression, albeit a bit wide-eyed. “Jihoon... just remember what I’m putting on the line here. It’ll work, if we help each other. So give me something to work with, okay. Give  _them_ something to work with—“ he gestures to the front of the car where the Choi women are seated and waiting, probably chatting about what to make for breakfast, or guessing what dishes Jihoon might like “—They actually quite like you already. Well— except for the part where you’ve never given your PA a break for three years,” he laughs, but he instantly senses the shift in demeanour as Jihoon looks down, scuffing the black vans he’s half slipped on, exposing his heels, on the grey bitumen below. Seungcheol, unbidden, had just hit a sensitive spot and he feels only a little bit bad. “Just talk to them a little more.”

It’s with a sigh and the smallest, imperceptible nod Seungcheol has ever caught, that Jihoon relents and agrees to the suggestion, and finally they enter the passenger seats together and join the Choi women who are mid-conversation about the benefits of barrel lungs. Jihoon is alarmed when he hears,  _‘it’s harder to drown,_ ’ a strange choice of wording from his mother; her satoori isn’t as thick as his grandmother’s but Seungcheol is still surprised Jihoon can even follow the conversation. Seungcheol quickly mouths, ‘diving ’, to appease the wild look that has overcome Jihoon and has a hunch that it isn’t just the talk of drowning that scares him, but he decides that it isn’t the time to broach the topic, when his mother starts the car and begins to drive.

~

Jihoon has visited Jeju-do once, before this trip, and Seungcheol is privy to that knowledge because he’s been through his boss’s travel history. With his full consent, of course. Despite immigrating to Korea, Jihoon hasn’t travelled out of the country since he moved from Australia, his only travels domestic in nature. Busan to Seoul. And, if Seungcheol remembers correctly, a business trip to Jeju (not unlike this one) to attend an invitation to a music festival— a wind ensemble festival, maybe— from an old producing friend. Remember, connections are just as important as hard work and talent. So to Seungcheol’s extensive knowledge Jihoon has travelled by train and air all but four times. 

Through his sleepy haze, Seungcheol quietly observes how Jihoon becomes enamoured with the sparkling seas of Jeju-do. Even in the darkness of twilight, the yellow street lamps cast shuddering, dappling light upon the moving water, and refract back in blinks of stretched light. His mother takes the coastal scenic route back home and the night life is definitely quieter than Seoul, where the noise never quite stops. It’s like the island is taking one long breath in, only letting go when the sun breaks out on the horizon, until then, resting and muted. 

His Halmeoni asks Jihoon a question, but he doesn’t quite grasp the meaning, looking over to Seungcheol who’s too sleepy and distracted by the view to be of any help.

“Ah. Halmang was just wondering if Jihoon likes the sea,” his mother says, catching Jihoon’s confusion through the rearview mirror. He does, Seungcheol is quite sure of this fact and is satisfied to hear it confirmed by the man himself. 

“I love the sea. I grew up surrounded by beaches. And I’ve been swimming in the ocean since I was a baby,” Jihoon says, wistfully quiet. He’s turned his attention back outside, eyes wavering to catch the zipping scene in front of him as the car speeds along the empty road. Eommoni huffs out of her nose, amused, and Seungcheol has an inkling that she might just start divulging his greatest childhood secrets to embarrass him with the mention of babies. Despite the time away from his family, he knows there dastardly habits and the ins and outs of their mind like the back of his hand. Seungcheol shifts to the middle seat, his seatbelt locking as he sidles right beside Jihoon, the strap digging into his gut painfully but it’s a small price to pay to defend his pride. He glares into the rear view mirror, locking onto the same almond eyes he’s got on his own face and tries to convey his dissent. It translates more as a defeated pout though and his mother laughs through her mouth this time. 

“Oh, really?” 

Seungcheol holds his breath, his narrow gaze turning wide and panicked. “Maybe we can take you down to the beach near our residence tomorrow— today. Would you like that, Jihoon-ah?” Seungcheol is surprised his warning worked— his mother is his mother and does not ever heed his warnings— and sighs in relief, sagging against the worn upholstery and, in turn, against Jihoon. Their arms press together and Jihoon curiously looks over at his PA who nestles into him, tired, so Jihoon shifts his arm back and Seungcheol falls into the movement, now slightly on top of him, head bowed so close to his shoulder he might as well start resting on it, alleviating the awkward pressure and finding as much comfort as one could strapped to a metal box on wheels.

‘ _ That would be nice _ _,_ ’ is the last thing Seungcheol catches before he’s lulled to sleep with the motion of the car on the gravelly road and the whisper of breath above his ear. 

~

Seungcheol is woken up briefly when they finally reach the Choi residence, or what he assumed would be the Choi residence, everything kind of muddied by semi-sleep he can hardly tell what his feet are doing, and all Seungcheol can recall is being half dragged out of the car by strong lithe hands and the warmth of an arm around his waist helping him into a lowly lit room, but even then he’s not too sure he’s dreamed it all up. All he knows is that he definitely isn’t in his actual room, or their house, even. 

When Seungcheol wakes up, truly wakes up, a click of his phone tells him it’s only twenty minutes past seven and he curses the internal clock in his body that has decided to work for once. He hears the soft almost sticky pad of feet on timber slats and Jihoon peeps his head through the sliding screen doors, looking much too put together for seven in the morning in his silky peach pajama set, and wonders if Seungcheol knows where the coffee is. Seungcheol has just enough brain capacity to recognise that they are in one of the many hanok retreats his father and mother own on the small island— he’s just going to ignore his awfully adorable boss right now, and sequesters the mental image of his boss in a button up pj shirt and shorts to match into the compartment in his brain comprehensively labeled ‘ _ unnecessary/miscellaneous/distracting boss related items _ ’— and relaxes back into the blanket below, the only padding against the warm wooden floor. He doesn’t mind it so much, his body used to sleeping on the heated floorboards after countless childhood getaways with his halmeoni.

“Choi, the sun is up and you should be too.” He hates that Jihoon is a morning person. Grouchy, still half-asleep and functions like a zombie, but still, a morning person. Frankly its disturbing and disgusting and all sorts of ‘dis’ that he can’t quite name with his morning brain— a disease!

Seungcheol does not like mornings. Even more so when said morning can be slept through and his body simply does not take advantage of it. 

“Uhhh,” Seungcheol groans out, pressing the heel of his palms against his eyes to block out the morning sun bleeding through the screens, “don’t even know if they have it. Top shelf? Can you reach?” 

Jihoon scampers away once more, missing that last part, and after a minute Seungcheol hears a small sound of accomplishment, the littlest, ‘aha!’ and the beeping and gurgling of an electronic kettle from the next room.

“Jihoon,” Seungcheol calls, sitting up and cradling his head. He’s still very much sleepy but he catches the questioning hum wedged amongst the louder noise from the other side of the wall— walls as thin as parchment because they literally are parchment. “Did eomma say anything about plans for today or are we gonna do our own thing?” 

“She said she’d pick us up at ten,” Jihoon answers.

_Fuuuuck_.

Yeah, screw that, Seungcheol is going back to sleep. Sun be damned. 

~

“Sweetie, did you sleep alright? You were dead as a rock last night,” his mother says just before she slams the breaks to avoid running over a wild cat. Seungcheol recovers from the slight wind from his seatbelt locking and murmurs a distracted yes, looking past the back of the shotgun seat to check up on a similar stated Jihoon; his mother smiles out a sorry and all is forgiven. He’s still kind of sleepy, hair damp from the quick shower he ran, waking up at nine-fifty; if halmangie was here he’d probably get a good scolding about drying his hair before going out or waking up earlier. Actually, not probably,  definitely . Jihoon was prepared and ready to go two hours beforehand, ready to brave yet another day with the coffee hit in his veins. 

When they finally clear the tree line of sprawling citrus, the Choi residence looms into view, as big and imposing as Seungcheol remembers, beautiful in its beastly size, but he notices the new upgrades and renovations like a glaring neon sign blinking right between his eyes. 

His mother lights up, delighted. “Surprise!” 

Yes, most definitely, this is a surprise kept hidden under wraps and all the, ‘ _ oh, it’s been the same old back home _ _,_ ’ he’s been hearing for five years whenever he turns the probing back onto his family. Not only that, there is a steady stream of people flitting in and out of the house; a few more cars and bikes than normal parked on the outskirts of the premise and Seungcheol belatedly spots the large banner hung across the front of the house, in big sparkling block letters _‘_ _ WELCOME HOME, SEUNGCHEOL _ ’ flickers at him with the island breeze as they pull into the driveway. 

“Eomma, you didn’t have to!” Seungcheol huffs, his cheeks blown out in a pout. His mother can’t resist the urge to pinch his cheeks so she does as she pleases, and proceeds to do so with an absolute vigor.

“Cheollie, I most _definitely_ had to. I don’t know what you’re talking about, really,” she grumbles, but its light-hearted and she can hardly suppress her grin when Seungcheol gingerly rubs at his abused cheeks. “Go on and help your boyfriend, alright.” She tries it again when Seungcheol stays put, pouting still, and he launches himself out of the car just in time to escape her nipping fingers.

“You never told me you were rich, Choi,” this is what Jihoon’s first comment is when he finally sees his childhood home, whispered low just for him to hear; Seungcheol helps him out of the passenger side by opening the car door and Jihoon shuffles out with their carriers in hand, eyes narrowed at the three storey building before him. 

“My parents are rich.” Seungcheol snatches the closest carrier from Jihoon’s grasp, a smidge put out at the perceived accusation and turning on the defensive. He can barely keep up with the office attire; suits too expensive for his liking, though it isn’t entirely the fault of a lack of funds but more a lack of motivation to actually search and shop for them; still, Seungcheol’s  _ not _ rich. And maybe he blames Jihoon a little for that— he forgets to pay overtime sometimes and, boy, do the hours add up. 

“Alright,” Jihoon murmurs, looking over at his PA with a small smile, an offer of peace. 

“Alright.”

They make it into the foyer before they’re ambushed by family and friends alike; blood-uncles and aunties, people they only call uncle and auntie, distant cousins Seungcheol hasn’t seen since he was a child. In a whirlwind of greetings and nostalgic small talk the couple are separated, bags and carriers disappearing into the fray, or more likely into the hands of the family housekeepers. He spies a bug-eyed Jihoon being dragged down the hall by a great-aunt, Seungcheol thinks might be one of the ahjumma’s that worked at the tea farm his dad owns, and hears her reprimanding his little boss for missing breakfast— without a doubt Jihoon is about to be filled to bursting by the overzealous old lady. He has a mind to follow them, but someone steps into his congested path and stops him dead in his tracks. 

“If it isn’t Choi Seungcheol in the flesh!” 

“Jieun-ah,” Seungcheol breathes, “wow. Um, it’s great to see you. You— you look great!” Seungcheol stammers out— stammers out to his  _ ex _ . 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dalkjuk — chicken porridge just if you wanted to know hehe
> 
> I hope you liked this update its more of a part one in a chapter that was cut in half so the cut off might feel kinda weird but this chapter is being updated along with the next one so at least we don’t have to wait for the second part YAY  
> As always feel free to leave whatever you want on this fic and have an awesome time, until next time lads


	6. Unwelcome welcoming party pt. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part two of the welcome home party, it’s a fun time!

Jihoon doesn’t make a habit of lying to old ladies but, in times of need and desperation, a white lie or two never hurt anyone. Jihoon escapes the hands of the sweet old ahjumma, trying to feed him her very own  _Kkwong Memil Kalguksu_ ,  passed down seven generations, special recipe and all, but Jihoon really can’t stomach anything with his nerves taking up all the space. 

“Ah, auntie, I’m quite alright.” And when that doesn’t work, soup-spoon ladled with a bit of everything; chunk of white pheasant meat right in the middle, driving closer and closer to his tightly sealed mouth, he blurts out, “I’m terribly allergic to pheasant meat.” A lie. He’s never actually tried the specific type of poultry before and maybe under calmer circumstances, preferably without the anxiety of socializing and deceiving in the immediate vicinity of his brain, he would be down to trying the healthier chicken alternative, because despite everything, he still really likes chicken. 

Luckily, she didn’t drag him off too deep into the house— the kitchen is only down a hall from the living area— so Jihoon doesn’t have much trouble getting back to the main room, just passed the foyer, where everyone has migrated. In the throes of people, Jihoon finds Seungcheol’s curling mop of black hair behind someone, and the insistent thrum of his heart slows down by a second. With two deep breaths, it slows down by another and Jihoon deduces that this is as good as it gets; he braves his way through the crowd to get to his PA. 

As Jihoon closes in, he finally gets in hearing range of Seungcheol who is deep in conversation with the girl that was blocking his view earlier. 

“...as unsure myself. I had reason to believe that I was going to miss halm—“

Seungcheol spots him first, already facing his way; he cuts himself off mid sentence, the look on his face one of apprehension, furtive for no apparent reason— no apparent reason, at least, to Jihoon. 

“Hey, Seungcheol-hyung,” Jihoon says casually, squeezing at Seungcheol’s wrist when he’s close enough to do so. He turns towards the girl; pretty (and taller, too), now he can admit since he’s seen more than just the back of her head, and bows his head quickly, looking back to Seungcheol with his eyebrows raised in question. It takes a moment for the cue to catch but Seungcheol gets there eventually, dazedly introducing, “Kang Jieun, uh, a... close friend of mine.” Jihoon would be hard pressed or blind to miss the minute twist in Jieun’s decidedly neutral expression, but opts to ignore the strange tension that suddenly hangs in the air and reaches out to shake her hand.

“Hello, Jieun-sshi.” She accepts his hand, shaking once but firmly and a smile breaks through— she’s quite beautiful.

“Jieun-ah, this is Lee Jihoon. First and foremost my boss, and second but still foremost, my prince.” Jihoon sputters at the endearment and avoids looking at Seungcheol or anyone for that matter. Jieun laughs at the shy display, and remembers to greet Jihoon between breathless laughter. Jihoon mutters, “Well— boyfriends. We’re boyfriends.” Still unsure whether Seungcheol has yet to break the news of their marriage, Jihoon decides to play it safe. It was in their verbal contract that Seungcheol would choose exactly when and how he would disclose the ‘ _fiancé_ ’ news and Jihoon will keep his end of the bargain, no ifs, buts or maybes; still, he is getting antsy. 

The talk doesn’t go any deeper than a, ‘ _welcome to Jeju_ ’ and a, ‘ _nice to meet you’_ , before they’re whisked away to more pleasantries, but still no talk of engagements. It gets extremely overbearing at one point, as Jihoon’s socializing quota is exceeded, and Seungcheol is attentive enough to pull themselves away from the fray, into a little nook for a breather. 

“I heard about all the family businesses, you  forgot to mention, last night on our way to the hanok. Why didn’t you tell me you were some Chaebol prince of Jeju?” Jihoon spills, holding it in since he first laid eyes on the Choi hanok and having heard Mrs. Choi explain that they ran similar businesses in the west and south of the island. 

“How could I when we were busy talking about you... for nearly the last four years?” Seungcheol jests, sardonic, but it hits a little too close to home and lands somewhere between a bitter shot and a genuine observation. Jihoon hates the way Seungcheol’s face twists from his usual gentle guilelessness, and in that moment he realizes that his PA might just be as anxious as he is right now.

“Okay. Okay, you know what? Time out. We have to stop bickering and start persuading people that we’re in love—“ 

Seungcheol scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Hey, no. That’s not a problem— I can play the doting fiancé, have been playing the doting fiancé. That’s easy. But for you... for starters you can stop glaring at the food— I know you’re hungry. Just eat. Do you need me to spoon feed you?” Seungcheol rambles, voice turning hushed as guests move in and out of the space.

“Ha. Ha. Okay, now when are you going to tell them that we’re engaged?” Jihoon matches the hushed tone, even quieter and somehow more severe. It’s his nerves. They’re caustic and eating at the inside of Jihoon’s very being.

“At the right moment, okay—“

“Oh, Seungcheol-ah!”

“Teacher Jwa! When was the last time I saw you? How are you?” Seungcheol says a bit too loudly, something easily construed as surprise or enthusiasm and a jarring contrast to the whispering they were doing just before. Mrs. Jwa was Seungcheol’s middle school teacher and kept in contact with Seungcheol all throughout high school; her husband is with her, Mr. Han, who was Seungcheol’s high school sports teacher— admired by his PA the both of them were. Together they shaped his first dream to become a teacher, but they soon discovered how that worked out and learned of his change in career path by word of mouth (see, the Choi women are not shy about sharing information).

“So, I’ve always been curious, what does a music producer like you do? Give me all the nitty gritty details, Cheol-ah!” Huh, so the Choi women don’t share everything it seems. Jihoon isn’t vain enough to correct the mistake, leaving Seungcheol, suddenly tense under his hold, to rectify the misunderstanding—

“That’s a great question! I’m curious to know the answer myself.” Suddenly, a voice booms from behind Jihoon and he barely stops himself from overtly startling, both hands coming to grip Seungcheol’s forearm. The man makes his way into the conversation and stands in the loose circle that has formed between them, turning their quartet into a quintet. 

“Hey, abeoji,” Seungcheol says tersely; an aura of impartiality laying over him like a second skin as his father gives a single pat to his shoulder. “This is Lee Jihoon.”

“It’s nice to finally meet you. You’re all our boy talks about, Hoon-ah.” Seungcheol’s father is tall, and that doesn’t help the intimidation factor at all. Jihoon bows his head deeply, just as he did with the Choi women, he takes the offered hand but the warm hugs don’t follow this time. Despite all the formalities, he can’t help the way he blurts out, “Uh, Jihoon, actually... Mr Choi.” And he bows again, but he only feels a sense of indignation instead of the expected crippling embarrassment at the correction. Hopefully he doesn’t come off rude but Seungcheol’s dad isn’t trying for a five star first impression either. 

“So what does a producer do besides tapping out some beats and heading off to the club to start a rave?” Mr. Choi grins. It’s a bit terrifying and Jihoon is certain he’s mistaken his profession for a DJ, not out of genuine ignorance, but out of some half bred spite— though, he’s looking at Seungcheol when he says this. Mrs. Jwa doesn’t register the underhanded slight and chuckles. 

“That sounds like fun! No wonder you like being a producer so much,” Mrs. Jwa gushes at Seungcheol and his father’s grin grows impossibly wider. Seungcheol’s mouth is slightly parted and Jihoon recognizes the look; that stupefied, incredulous look, Jihoon has become familiar with particularly in the last twenty-four hours. Like Seungcheol’s brain doesn’t know if he should burst out in fiery anger or start sobbing out of helplessness.

“Ah, Haesun-sshi, Jihoon here is the producer, not our Seungcheol,” Mr. Choi redresses. “Seungcheol, is a producer’s assistant. He’s Jihoon’s assistant.”

“So... you’re actually Seungcheol’s boss. Yeah?” Mr Han slowly interjects for the first time since the harrowing conversation started. Jihoon nods, unsure how to proceed with words. The rest of Mr. Han and Mrs. Jwa’s comments fly over Jihoon’s head and Seungcheol’s father heads off mentioning something about drinks. 

Jihoon tries to meet Seungcheol’s gaze to no avail, as his PA follows his father with a simmering look. 

“Huh. _Charming_.” 

Seungcheol walks off, now following his father with his stride, down a short hallway, leading to some other living room. Jihoon excuses himself to slowly trail after his PA and stops when he catches the loud statement that escapes Seungcheol.

“That’s a hell of a first impression. Abeoji.” His posture is squared, like he’s about ready to throw hands— Jihoon almost finds it amusing in its comicality, but he knows Seungcheol would never. He’s soft hearted (“you’ve got the heart of a teenage girl,” Jihoon once said, two years ago— why exactly, he cannot remember), so more than anything it scares Jihoon to see him like this. 

Jihoon is reeled into another conversation but all he can do is nod and hum distractedly at what is being said by another curious ahjumma, all the while being hyper aware of the tense exchange behind him, down the hall, just five meters away. 

When he turns back after what feels like a long year, but in actuality was just half a minute, Seungcheol is gone and his father’s retreating figure disappears out of view in the next second. 

Maybe he does need to eat if he’s going to take any more of this day. 

He’s halfway through chewing the bite of ripe kimchi kimbap, back in the kitchen, when Seungcheol’s voice barely rings into the room, and Jihoon nearly chokes when he registers the announcement.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I have an important announcement to make. Jihoon and I are getting married!” 

If Seungcheol is anything he is efficient. Jihoon tries to follow the voice.  _Why is the house so big?_ The house is unnecessarily big, Jihoon thinks, trampling through rooms and hallways to find his PA. 

“Yep. Honey? Where you at?” The voice is louder now and when Jihoon rounds the corner like a meerkat, cautious and only headfirst, protecting his body, Seungcheol breathes in relief. “There he is.” 

Gradually, Jihoon steps into the clear, surrounded by most of the guests, and makes his way next to Seungcheol who’s saying something. Jihoon’s temporal lobe has briefly shut down. _From anxiety_. 

People stand up and start applauding and Seungcheol loops his arm over Jihoon’s shoulder, grounding him. And the wall of noise comes back to him, all at once. 

“Congratulations, Seungcheol!”

“It’s time to celebrate. Get the champagne!”

Jihoon can only pin Seungcheol with an incredulous stare and his PA returns it with a grin. Someone pops the cork of a wine bottle and the applause builds once more. 

When the hype dies down and the newly announced couple have a minute to themselves Jihoon corners Seungcheol. 

“So that was your idea of the right time to tell them we’re engaged. ‘Cause perfect timing, hyung. _Perfect_.” Jihoon smiles at him, sarcasm dripping like honey over his words. Seungcheol’s strangely elated, probably from lifting that burden from his mind and all he responds with is a giddy, “yep!” Jihoon doesn’t try to hide the rolling of his eyes. 

“Congratulations, Seungcheol.” Jieun materializes before them, eyes only for Seungcheol. “So not boyfriends, but  fiancés , huh.” And like she’s just remembered Jihoon was still standing next to Seungcheol, her gaze flickers to Jihoon and she smiles, though it looks strained and a bit sad. “Really congratulations, you two.” 

“Thank you, Jieun,” both Seungcheol and Jihoon chorus and Jieun looks like she still has something to say. 

“So... did I miss the story? I went outside for a moment and only heard about the engagement from your mom just then.” 

They shake there heads glancing at one another in their confusion. 

“What story?” Jihoon and Seungcheol say at the same time. Same tone. Same bewilderment. 

“About how you proposed!” 

Seungcheol’s halmeoni is eavesdropping. 

“Ah, how a man proposes says a lot about his character,” she says wisely. Beside her, Seungcheol’s eomma grins, clutching at her mother’s shoulders.

“I would actually love to hear the story, Seungcheol,” says Mrs. Choi. “Would you tell us?” The crowd around them responds in their stead and now they have no choice. 

They didn’t really think this far ahead. 

“You know what? Actually, Jihoon loves—  _loves_ ,  telling this story. So I’m just going to let him go ahead and do that.” _Die Choi Seungcheol._ Jihoon says as much in the quick scowl he throws his way. Seungcheol pats his shoulder encouragingly, but the only thing Jihoon feels inspired to do is strangle his personal assistant. Seungcheol settles down, cuddling against his halmeoni’s side, looking a bit too chipper for Jihoon’s liking. “‘Cause I think we should just sit in rapture.”

“Huh! Wow. Okay,” Jihoon starts because he has to begin somewhere. _Anywhere_. “Where to begin... this story. Well... Um, wow.” He continues like this for a few more seconds and Jihoon can only imagine how the crowd frowns amongst each other, impatience catching up to their curiosity— because he’s not making any eye contact with anyone. So it’s all up to his mind’s eye. “Okay, well, um, Seungcheol and I— Seungcheol and I were about to celebrate our first anniversary together...” and that is how Jihoon launches into the most bullshit, made up story he has every conjured out of his figurative ass, and the response is bolstering, as the crowd coos and aw’s at his every word. He really gets into it at one point, turning the proposal story into an instrument of revenge against Seungcheol for throwing him under the bus and leaving him alone with this. “I knew for a while that Seungcheol had been itching to ask me to marry him. But,” Jihoon pauses for effect, learning to enjoy the torture until it is anything but. “He was terrified. Like a little baby bird,” Jihoon coos, dimpled smile only for Seungcheol, who’s pouting uneasily, plastered to his halmeoni’s side. Jihoon rambles on, undeterred, “I started leaving him hints here and there, because I knew he wouldn’t have the guts to ask, but—“

“That’s not exactly how it happened,” Seungcheol interrupts, a hose bursting from the pressure. “I picked up on all his hints. This man is as subtle as a _gun_.” The crowd laughs and Jihoon narrows his eyes at Seungcheol, smile still intact. The story becomes so convoluted that even Jihoon has a hard time following along— 

“I thought he was cheating on me. Very difficult time for me.” Jihoon takes control of the story once again after Seungcheol recounts something about some scavenger hunted letter. All utter nonsense. “And when I followed the address on the letter, I found Seungcheol-hyung, your son, kneeling in a bed of rose petals—“

“I was standing—“

“Kneeling and choking back the softest, _softest_ sobs. He finally said—“

“‘Jihoon will you marry me?’ And he said, ‘yes’. The end. Is anyone hungry?”

And just like that Seungcheol cuts the fun short, but at least Jihoon doesn’t have to talk anymore. The crowd gasps softly and his halmeoni, kisses Seungcheol’s cheek, coddling him despite his insistent protest.

“Oh, Cheollie, I didn’t know you grew even softer, after all this time. You are so _sensitive_ ,” she says emphatically and the guests murmur their agreement. Seungcheol hides behind his hands, absolutely mortified and Jihoon can’t help the giggles that escape him. Seungcheol tries to escape the room but someone in the crowd yells, ‘ _hey, let’s see a kiss from you two, cuties!’_ Like they haven’t had enough of their whirlwind romance, and a commotion plays out in the ringing of clinking wine glasses and the chorus of, ‘ _yeahs_ !’ and, ‘ _show us!_ ’ that seem inescapable. 

“No, come on,” Seungcheol chuckles, weary. He’s standing close enough to Jihoon that the underlying panic behind his eyes seems glaringly obvious. 

“Oh, yes!” 

“Come on, Seungcheol!”

With one more meaningful look towards his boss, Seungcheol concedes to peer pressure and squeezes Jihoon’s hands, asking for permission to do  _something_. Jihoon doesn’t know exactly what  _something_. 

“Alright! Okay, here we go. Ready?” Then he lifts Jihoon’s hands towards his lips and smooches Jihoon’s knuckles with a ‘ _mwah_ ’. Jihoon can feel himself go red, even at the barest of contact but the crowd is extremely dissatisfied at the show, muttering their dissent, and high key  _booing_ . They really need to invest their time in a good k-drama,  _God damn _. 

“What is this? Kiss each other on the mouth like you _mean_ it!” They begin chanting and Jihoon is vividly terrified, like they’re chanting _kill him_ ’ instead of ‘ _kiss him_ ’ . 

They turn towards each other and Seungcheol still has his hands in his hold, cradling his fingers gently. Just to shut them up, Seungcheol yells ‘OK’ and then Jihoon gives him a look, he knows Seungcheol can read; ‘ _just be done with it!_ ’

They don’t even close their eyes,  looking more at the crowd than at one another, and awkwardly press their lips together. They make an obnoxious smooching sound like that would elevate the authenticity of their kiss, lips still and unmoving, and oddly Seungcheol and Jihoon are on the same page for once. The noises don’t help . Obviously. But Jihoon still burns when they part, embarrassed and not enjoying the experience with his PA at all— all he can focus on is how they really aren’t husbands and how he’s hasn’t actually kissed anyone since _high school_ and how the disapproving crowd need to shut the f—

“Can I kiss you again?” Seungcheol’s eyes are bright even in the shadows of their proximity and Jihoon nods at the whispered request.  Seungcheol kisses him again, dropping Jihoon’s hands to cradle his jaw, properly this time and without overt theatrics. It’s strange and the whole mood shifts when Jihoon sees the exact moment Seungcheol slips his eyes shut and he shyly slides his lips along Jihoon’s and Jihoon can’t help the fluttering of his eyelids, like the weight of the intimacy has pressed them shut of their own accord and—

_Oh_. 

So this is what kissing Seungcheol feels like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kkwong Memil Kalguksu — buckwheat noodles in pheasant broth
> 
> This is the first time I’ve ever dabbled and written romance because I usually only write friendships and platonic relationships so let’s see how we go hey
> 
> Thank you to everyone who shows this fic some kindness and to all the readers who gave it the time, I love y’all

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading, it means alot.
> 
> feel free to comment, kudo and subscribe if you like it -- its a really good gauge on how im writing and how the readers are receiving it!
> 
> updates will probably be super spontaneous but i really enjoy writing this verse and its quicker than usual.
> 
> p.s its probabaly gonna be a long one, considering it took 3000+ words just to write out like the first five minute opening scene of the proposal, so yeh, enjoy haha~
> 
> follow me @4643hui on twitter and annoy me about svt and nct  
> Also if there is anyone out there that is interested in beta reading or just kinda bouncing off ideas and motivating me to write this story please hit me up on my Twitter— everyone needs a little help with things once in a while and I’m definitely no exception ;.;


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